Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It came in flashes at first, there were no words, nothing uttered by the people that he was watching.

Harry Potter simply didn’t know what he was seeing until the ring was lingered on, the emerald cut diamond that sat in his family vault shimmering in the light before he saw who it was connected to and the puzzle pieces falling into place as he tried to grapple with the eyes that he saw—with the fact that Pansy-bloody-Parkinson was wearing his mother’s ring.

And then there were more flashes before he could wrap his head around it. A melodic laugh that Harry had certainly never heard from Pansy in his entire life, regardless of how much they seemed to encounter each other. A content sigh as he watched the woman bury her face in his chest—an older version of him, one with a gash across his cheek and a wedding band that caught the light as Harry watched himself knot his fingers into Pansy’s hair and pressing his lips against the temple of her head.

“What were you thinking, Harry?” Pansy muttered, her voice muffled against his chest. “You could have fucking died!”

“Pans—” Harry sighed, shifting so he could pull her back, cupping her cheeks and tilting her chin up. “I couldn’t just leave them there, I couldn't. They are just children.”

“No, you’re not leaving me pregnant with your bloody child and you dying. We already crossed that bridge—you don’t get to try to die anymore, you did it at Hogwarts but now I’m invested and you—”

There was another flash, and a scream that echoed in his mind, before Harry jolted upright with the sheet falling away from his chest, sucking in gulps of air while the other person in his bed stirred and Ginny sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What is it? Are you having nightmares again?” she muttered, swallowing hard before she rested a hand against his back while his heart thudded against his ribs. “Woh, Harry… what is going on? What did you dream about?”

“I—” Harry squeezed his eyes closed, the image of tenderness that he’d seen in his mind flashing again before he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Gin, I’m fine. You’ve got practice in the morning and I think I just need a cup of tea.”

“You’re sure?” the redhead muttered, already burrowing herself back into the blankets. “I can make it for you.”

“Go to sleep.”

#

The weeks after that dream didn’t garner Harry much sleep—in fact, he would wager a guess that he was spending more time with his mind replaying those images than he spent doing just about anything else. And even he was willing to admit that was so bloody concerning, given the fact that he was supposed to be training for his promotion exams. He was supposed to be focused on learning how to be better and do better in just about anything—and yet his mind was occupied by the visions of Pansy-bloody-Parkinson that he was having rather than the fact that his girlfriend was out playing Quidditch. Rather than the fact that he was supposed to be learning more spells than he knew how to actually explain. He was supposed to be learning how to keep people alive in a time that wasn’t war.

No, he was focused on a dark haired woman who had a bite to her the last time he’d bumped into her that rivalled snakes. A woman that had become notorious in the Daily Prophet for taking down one politician or another from the background of society, repairing their reputations or tearing them apart—though he supposed that fit the little bit he’d known her in Hogwarts. And the fact that he had copies of the Prophet buried in the bottom of his desk that had mentions of Parkinson now? That was none of his bloody business.

Ginny was his business.

The fact that they were on their way to an engagement was his business.

The fact that Pansy Parkinson was seemingly haunting him whether he was sleeping or awake was certainly notsomething that was his business.

And the fact that he caught himself staring at her arse as she walked out of Robard’s office at the beginning of the week, the heels that she seemed bloody addicted to clicking against the stone floor that littered the Ministry? Well, he could write that off as paying attention to his surroundings.

Neville had been talking about one of the spells they’d been working on during their lessons, trying their hardest to master, and Harry couldn’t figure out why it was that his friend thought that he was going to be paying attention.

“Harry,” Neville snapped, waving a hand in front of his face before he shook his head. “What has gotten into you lately?”

“Busy,” Harry muttered, clearing his throat before he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the man. “Just been busy and distracted.”

“One would say that this isn’t the time to be distracted,” Neville said with a shrug, clearing his throat before he leaned on the desk and looked at Harry. There was something different in this—the man hadn’t gone through and defeated the Dark Lord for nothing and he certainly hadn’t done it because he was easily distracted by anything that crossed his gaze. “I also know there’s more going on. Are you and Ginny fighting again?”

Clearing his throat, Harry shook his head, “No, just not getting enough rest and she’s got practices bloody constantly as they prepare for the World Cup next year.”

“Her first chance to get on the team?”

“Yeah,” Harry gave a sharp nod to Neville. “She’s been a bit overwhelmed.”

“And you’ve got a promotion looming.”

“You’re one to talk, Longbottom, you’ve got one looming too.”

“Nah,” Neville said, shrugging his shoulder for a moment before he looked at the ground and a soft smile formed on his lips. “I don’t think that I’ll take the promotion when it comes around.”

“What?”

“Sprout is retiring from Hogwarts in the next year or two.”

“And?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to go back to Hogwarts instead of staying with the Aurors?”

“Thinkin’ about it,” he said with a shrug, clearing his throat. “We made sure that the Lestrange brothers are in Azkaban and aren’t going anywhere.”

“Neville—”

“That is what I wanted after the battle.” Neville let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head for a moment before he looked at Harry. “And you’ve got a good bloody team around you here, so it’s not like you need me making sure that you aren’t getting points taken off or some other bloody problem.”

“That isn’t what—” Harry stopped himself, swallowing for a moment when he saw Hermione step off of the elevator. “Does she know?”

“Mia?” Neville asked, raising an eyebrow at him for a moment before he nodded. “It was her suggestion to look into it after the trials concluded.”

“She—” Harry shook his head for a moment before he looked at his best friend, appraising her as she watched the two, waiting for her husband to meet her. “Well, she didn’t allude to it at all,” he said with a shrug.

“I wouldn’t expect she would. I don’t know if she realized that I was going to seriously consider it until we were talking over the holidays.”

“What’s your Gran think about it?”

“Bloody hell, I’m not dense,” Neville said with a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not telling Augusta until I really know what I’m doing—can’t have Gran upset with me for the next who knows how long.”

“It would be quite the shame, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Hermione said, coming over and tapping Harry’s foot with her own. “Augusta doesn’t make the best crepes outside of France.”

“It’s a house—”

“It’s your grandmother,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Neville for a moment before she shook her head. “Are you joining us for lunch, Harry?”

“Oh yes, Harry, please join us,” Neville said, wrinkling his nose as he looked at Hermione, shaking his head. “This bloke is distracted.”

“I would expect that he’s considering proposing to poor Gin,” Hermione said with a grin, chuckling. “You know that your mum’s ring is just sitting in that vault, collecting dust when it deserves another life.”

Harry didn’t even realize that he had tensed until Hermione’s hand was on his shoulder and her eyebrows were pulling together, staring at him for a few long moments and he was forced to clear his throat, shaking his head as he looked at her. “Not yet.”

“Harry—”

He couldn’t stop that bloody visions from flashing across his mind again, the ring that he had spent far too many hours staring at in the vault, trying to figure out whether Ginny was who he wanted to wear his mother’s ring or if she was supposed to wear something different, something else that he would purchase. Harry couldn’t stop bloody thinking about the ring that had looked so problematically right on Pansy’s finger, the contented pleasurable noise that she had made when he pressed his cock inside of her in that haunting vision and—

“Bloody hell, Hermione, stop fucking pushing this,” Harry snapped, shaking his head.

“Potter,” Neville snapped, shaking his head. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s enough pressure from Molly to propose and maybe we’re not ready for that yet. Maybe we’re not—”

Hermione swallowed besides the two men, clearing her throat before she let out a soft breath as she looked at Harry before she grabbed his elbow and pulled him away from the bullpen of people. “I’ll be back, Nev.”

“Mia—”

“It’s fine, I’ll get him straightened out,” she said, shaking her head.

He didn’t bother resisting—Harry knew his best friend well enough to know that the witch wouldn’t let him out of her sight until she figured out what was going on with him, particularly given that he would have proposed to Ginny before. There was a good likelihood that his girlfriend would have become his wife before this, there was a good likelihood that she would be carrying his children before too long if everything went according to plan.

Instead he couldn’t get his head out of the clouds from a bloody nightmare that was nothing more than his mind panicking about the idea of the immense commitment it was to propose to Ginerva Weasley—to permanently affix himself to the Weasley family in a way that he hadn’t before. There couldn’t be anything more to it except for the fact that it had felt so bloody real. It had felt like it was happening, that was something that was supposed to happen.

“What is going on?” Hermione said gently as she pulled him into one of the filing rooms, shutting the door behind them. “I thought that you wanted to propose before the World Cup so it was swallowed by the news cycle and it could be the two of yours.”

“I’m not—” Harry said, letting his eyes close for a few moments before he swallowed hard. “Hermione, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Letting out a huff, Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head. “That’s not an acceptable answer, Potter, and you bloody well know it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to go to lunch with, Nev?”

“Not the point.”

“Kind of the point when I’m asking it.”

Hermione groaned, shaking her head. “Neville had second thoughts about going through and proposing to me, you know.”

“Hermione—”

“He got cold feet, forced his gran to take the ring back and everything, and then proposed with a bloody vine of ivy a few weeks later.”

“What?” Harry said, his eyebrows shooting upward. “You’re joking.”

“He went and got the ring that evening, to his credit.”

“He used a fucking plant, Hermione?”

“It’s very Neville,” Hermione said fondly, smiling softly before she flicked her eyes up to him, the smile lingering. “If it’s just that you’re getting nervous to ask Gin to marry you, then—”

“It’s not,” Harry said quickly, swallowing hard. “I mean, it is, but it’s also not.”

“Then talk to me,” she said, reaching out and snagging his hand, giving it one tight squeeze before tilting her head. “It’s just me, Harry.”

Letting his eyes close for a moment, Harry let out a slow breath before he finally really looked at Hermione and cleared his throat. “You don’t believe in Divination, but I had a dream and it just—it felt bloody real, like it happens, like it’ll happen.”

“A dream.”

“Yeah, a dream,” Harry said, clearing his throat.

“Like the dreams that you had at Hogwarts?” Hermione said, raising her eyebrows at him for a moment before she shook her head. “Harry, if you’re—”

“Not like the ones that I had when I was connected with Voldemort,” he snapped, shaking his head before he looked at her. “But yes, like that—where it felt so bloody real that I couldn’t snap out of it, but it wasn’t me. Not yet, not—” Harry shook his head as he struggled to figure out how to put to words what it was that he was experiencing, what he had running through his mind that night before he woke up not quite able to believe that he was suddenly back in his own bed. “It was a dream, of sorts, but snippets of—I don’t know, Mione, my life? It felt—it was my life, with Parkinson.”

“With—” Hermione hesitated for a moment, clearing her throat as she watched him before she let out a slow breath and nodded carefully at what he was saying. “With Pansy?”

“She was wearing my mother’s bloody wedding ring!” Harry said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t even sure if I should use it for Ginny, but Pansy is the one that’s wearing it in whatever that was? Pansy Parkinson? Mi—she tried to fucking—”

“She’s apologized for the position that put you in, you know,” Hermione interjected, clearing her throat. “And she’s made an effort to not be the same person that her family was before everything.”

“That doesn’t mean—” Harry swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes closed. “I’m supposed to be proposing to Ginny, and now—”

“You can’t get it out of your head,” Hermione said softly, letting out a small chuckle that had Harry’s eyes snapping up to look at her. “I’m not saying it’s funny, but it’s funny,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Of all the girls that I thought may have pulled your attention away from Ginny over the past five years, I don’t think that Pansy ever landed on the list.”

“Good reason,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh?” Hermione said, crossing her arms against her chest and looking at Harry. “Because you don’t have a thing for women who speak their mind far too much, who can put you in your place, and who are of the belief that women can do things just as good as men and sometimes significantly better?”

“Because—” The words died in Harry’s throat before he could let them out, shaking his head. He didn’t know Pansy now—he didn’t know the woman it was that she had become after the war and except for the snippets of information that he had seen in the Prophet, it wasn’t something that had crossed his mind until recently. After all, if Harry was doing his job well, there was no reason for him to need the services of Pansy Parkinson.

“Look, just because you had a dream, doesn’t mean that you have to go and marry her,” she said quietly. “It also doesn’t mean that you have to marry Ginny if you don’t want to marry her.”

“I don’t—” Harry cleared his throat before he looked at Hermione. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, not when it really comes down to it.”

“Then you need to think,” Hermione said softly, squeezing the man’s hand before letting it go. “And know that while Molly might be mad for a while if you and Gin split, I’m proof that no matter what, we’re stuck as her kids.”

“I think that this would be bloody different,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You and Ron were together less than a year and never really all that serious.”

“It wouldn’t,” Hermione said with a shrug, sighing before she shook her head. “Just think about it. And if you aren’t happy with Ginny—excited to go home and missing her when she’s gone and wanting those children with her, then it’s time for you to let her figure out where her happiness is, and yours .”

Swallowing hard, Harry shoved the panic down his throat that had quickly appeared, shoving his hands into his pockets before he gave the woman a sharp nod. “I’ll think about it.”

He wouldn’t—Harry had no intention to sit down and do something as bloody reckless as contemplate whether he should leave a woman who was really, in every way, absolutely bloody perfect for him. After all, he knew that what was forged in the fire of war would survive everything else—he and Ginny had proven that, time and time again. Even when the cards were stacked against them, Ginny was able to be the person that he needed at the end of every day and had managed to become the one that he leaned on in the evenings when he made it home.

“It’s about what you want,” Hermione said gently, pulling the door open. “It’s not just about what you need—because if you don’t want it too, then you’re not going to be able to make the marriage truly work.”

#

He wasn’t sure that ashamed was the right word to use.

But what Harry was sure of was the fact that he knew that he shouldn’t have lingered on his decision—he had protected the redhead that he shared his flat with, he had cherished her, and bloody hell, Harry loved Ginny, but he wasn’t sure where along the line he had stopped being in love with her. He wasn’t sure why something that he was letting something as small as a nightmare become the reason why he realized that they maybe weren’t right for each other. But the fact remained that he had.

The move out day was the worst.

Grimmauld Place had sat empty since the war, however, and rather than cause Ginny even more changes in her life, something that she hadn’t even done anything wrong to warrant Harry upending her entire life—upending all of their plans and everything that she’d known since the war concluded. No, that place was covered with memories, the haunting visions of Sirius laughing with Remus, the immense silence that had filled that home after his godfather’s death, the scratching on the floors that had seemed to dog his every step when he, Hermione, and Ron had hid out in the house after Snape had betrayed the location. Harry Potter might have inherited Grimmauld Place, but that didn’t mean that he wishedthere had been a loophole in the law that had meant that Draco Malfoy had it land in his lap instead, taking the mantel up as heir of the Black family.

There was still dust covering everything, books scattered across the home as though everyone had abandoned the place without warning, there had still been cans of empty food that the trio of friends had left before they fled during the war. When Harry had intended to abandon the place, he had meant it. He didn’t want the reminders, he didn’t want the portrait screaming at him about everything that he didn’t do right, and he certainly didn’t want to deal with the fact that Sirius’ room still lingered in everything that his godfather had once been.

The last thing that Harry had expected as that Narcissa would be his saving grace.

The woman had stepped out of the Floo one evening, armed with a House-Elf next to her and with her back straight, hair put together as though she was going to meet someone of importance. As though she was going to let him dictate the term of what he did with this house. So when Harry stepped into the entry, glass of Fire-Whiskey in his hand and cleared his throat, he wasn’t sure what to expect from the Malfoy matriarch while he leaned against the door jam. “Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Mr. Potter,” she said, inclining her head. “I thought that you may need some assistance in rehabilitating the Black manor.”

“Oh,” Harry said, clearing his throat before ducking his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose on your time—I know that you have been busy repairing various locations through Wizarding London in regards to the damage to the war.”

“Potter,” she said, delicately raising an eyebrow as she looked at him. “This is part of my family history. I can assure you that this is not something that is difficult for me to assist with.” Leaning over, Narcissa cleared her throat, “It is also my understanding that Kreacher has decided that he would rather remain at his post in Hogwarts, and you are without a House-Elf to assist in the maintenance of the home?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry let out a slow breath, trying to push the frustration of Narcissa’s interference away. Maybe she was trying to be helpful—maybe the woman was attempting to help with something that seemed like it was a problem for him, but he didn’t need help putting his home together. “I don’t need a House-Elf, Mrs. Malfoy, I grew up in a home—”

“Teemy,” Narcissa said gently, holding a finger up to Harry as she slowly crouched down to the House-Elf’s level, smiling softly. “If you are able, can you please make sure that the dust is cleared out of each room so Mr. Potter here can get a proper amount of sleep without worrying about the filth?”

“Is this the home that Mistress spoke about?” Teemy said, clearing her little throat before she looked around. “It doesn’t look like Master Mulciber’s did, it looks—”

“No one has lived here,” Harry said gruffly, shaking his head. “Narcissa, I don’t need this.”

“I believe that you don’t know what you need,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, clearing her throat. “I think that this is something that would be immensely helpful, don’t you think, Teemy?”

“Whatever Mistress and new Master asks,” she said, inclining her head.

“Excuse me, what?” Harry said, straightening before he cleared his throat. “No, no. I don’t need a House-Elf, ma’am.”

“Mr. Potter, again, I don’t know that you’re aware what you need for a house like Grimmauld Place, but I can certainly say that while Kreacher may not want to be back here, Teemy comes from a household that treated her well—but unfortunately, she is no longer there.”

“Well, if it’s Mulciber—”

Narcissa gave a sharp shake of her head before she cleared her throat, “Mr. Potter, I don’t believe that you know everything that has or has not gone on, but a House-Elf will be increasingly important within a household of this size, so I would encourage you to take advantage of having the help while you are getting back after Miss Weasley left you.”

Harry hesitated, narrowing his eyes at Narcissa before he hook his head. “I left her.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said, clearing her throat as she looked around the room. “Did Sirius really not change any of the things within this home? It still looks just as stuffy as when Walburga had picked out all the decor.”

Throwing back the remainder of the Fire-Whiskey, he let out a heavy sigh before he shook his head, watching at Narcissa continued to walk around the room, her fingers lingering on the carefully carved fireplace. “This was the last place that Sirius wanted to be,” he said with a shrug. “I would expect that he wouldn’t have changed a thing that wasn’t necessary in winning the war.”

Narcissa hummed, looking around the entry before she nodded. “I have someone that has a keen eye for things like this, since it is looking like you will be living here, Mr. Potter.”

“Narcissa—” Harry started, exhaustion in his voice as he was shaking his head. “I really don’t need help refurbishing a home that I don’t plan on—”

“You own it,” she snapped, shaking her head as she looked around. “My aunt always had darker tastes in everything, and it didn’t get better when Sirius left or when Regulus disappeared, so I would expect that you would want to change it.”

“Just because I—”

“Pansy isn’t a designer, and while I know that the two of you have had your differences, I at least know that she will honour the history of the home while warming it up to what you prefer—removing aspects of the home that aren’t suitable—if I recall there was some memorable artwork on the walls that my aunt preferred that I certainly wouldn’t allow displayed in my home.”

Harry winced, squeezing his eyes closed before running a hand through his hair. “The House-Elf heads were removed while we stayed here during the war,” Harry muttered. “Hermione couldn’t stand seeing them whenever she was walking around.”

“Given the House-Elf legislation that she’s trying to push through the Wizengamot, that is not surprising to me.”

Flicking his eyes back to the matriarch, Harry swallowed hard before he nodded slowly. “I didn’t figure that you would be aware of that.”

“Because you think that my family wouldn’t support the reform?”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding sharply, “I was the one that freed Dobby, if you recall.”

“Lucius was less than pleased,” Narcissa said, waving her hand as though it didn’t even matter, clearing her throat. “I already arranged for Pansy to come and give some pointers to you and Teemy tomorrow on what would work well with the modern trends while honouring the history of the Blacks.”

“I don’t want to honour them,” Harry snapped, shaking his head. “They bloody abused Sirius, Narcissa! And you had to have known, you had to have been aware of what they were putting him through before—”

Harry watched as Narcissa straightened, clearing her throat as her eyes locked on him and she shook her head slowly. “You don’t understand Pure-Blood culture, at the basic core, Potter. And that’s not your fault, in any way. You weren’t taught—your family wouldn’t have been around to show you what it was that was tradition, how important it was to keep your opinions to yourself until you were of the age to step into your own. Sirius knew that and he knew the consequences of continuing to push Walburga and Orion.”

“Narcissa—”

“They weren’t right,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “We all know that we weren’t right back then, but we didn’t ever feel as though we had the option to ask more questions. And in case you weren’t aware,” she said softly, biting her lip. “Neither Orion or Walburga went after Sirius when he left—they didn’t go after the Potters for allowing him to stay there either, they let him have the freedom that he craved when he chose it.”

Harry opened his mouth not once, not twice, but three times as he stared at Narcissa, barely holding on to his empty glass of Fire-Whiskey before he shook his head, swallowing hard. “Parkinson wouldn’t want to waste her time coming here.”

“There is little that I would ask Pansy to do that she wouldn’t be willing to attempt,” Narcissa said, her lips quirking up into a smile. “Besides, she need something to focus on that isn’t just work and I believe that this would be the perfect project for her to distract herself with.”

Harry tried to stop himself—he really did—but it didn’t stop him from straightening, looking at her for a moment before he shook his head. “A distraction from what?”

“Oh my boy,” Narcissa said, taking the strides across the room and looking at him with a slow smile on her lips. “While I know that you and Pansy have not had a friendly relationship over the years, you cannot be oblivious to the fact that her father is up for parole in just a few short weeks.”

Shaking his head, Harry swallowed hard as he looked around the room, feeling his throat tighten. He knew of Archibald Parkinson—he had seen the repercussions of the things the man had done during the war and the frantic nature that the Parkinson head had managed to do in the name of staying free when the war was over. It certainly hadn’t worked for him—but he still wasn’t held accountable for everything that he had most certainly done.

What Harry hadn’t realized was the likelihood that the man would be getting out of Azkaban this soon—he’d disconnected from the investigations once the trials were over—he had ignored the fact that that there were people who weren’t getting convicted that should have been. He had kept his mouth shut about the fact that Lucius should have spent his life in Azkaban in repayment to Narcissa and Draco for what they’d done for him. Harry had made sure that Pansy hadn’t been charged in relation to the Great Hall, but after he had wiped his hands of everything to do with the Parkinson family and moved forward.

“…I didn’t realize that he was coming up on parole.”

“Some things are never going to fully change,” Narcissa said quietly, clearing her throat. “And while many of them are going to be paying for their crimes for the rest of their lives, there are some that got off with far too much leniency.”

Swallowing, Harry nodded his head as he looked at the woman. “She can come tomorrow—and I’ll see what I’m able to do in regards to Archibald’s parole.”

“Are you think that you could do something about it?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “One would think that Draco would have more—”

“Don’t say more influence,” Harry said with a groan, shaking his head. “I think that having Harry Potter testify against parole might have some weight, and if your son wants to also testify as to the details of what Parkinson did during the war, that likely would not hurt the chances of keeping him in Azkaban.”

“…why would you do that?” Narcissa said, her eyebrows pulled together for a moment before she cleared her throat. “I would have thought that you wouldn’t want to do Pansy any favours.”

Harry didn’t know how to explain it to anyone—even talking to Hermione hadn’t made it easier for him to figure out what it was that he was going to say to the woman or how he would describe why he felt this ridiculous protectiveness over someone that he had no control over anymore—that he had no reason to feel some sort of connection with. And yet…

“None of us are the same people that we were when we were seventeen, so why should I hold her to something that she did in the midst of a war where she had limited choices that would assure her safety?”

Narcissa hummed softly before she nodded her head, letting out a soft breath. “Teemy will stay here now,” she admitted quietly. “She can help you with the household, but also with your day-to-day life. She served the Mulciber family exceptionally while and they were unexpectedly kind to her compared to what most House Elves are left to navigate.”

“I don’t think—” Harry hesitated for a moment before he cleared his throat. “I don’t know that a Death Eater’s House-Elf is appropriate to be here.”

“I think that you will be quite surprised by what Teemy is like,” Narcissa said with a soft smile. “Our families were together often and as a result, I was around her much as a child. Her tea service is bar none.”

“…you’re not going to let me take no for an answer, are you?” Harry said quietly.

“When Alexandros was killed during the final battle, part of his will had provisions for the care of Teemy,” Narcissa said, her smile disappearing, clearing her throat. “While I wasn’t the first in line to inherit her, I was the second and I wouldn’t be passing her along to your family if I didn’t think that it was the best long-term placement for this particular House-Elf.”

“Naricssa—”

“She thrives in smaller households, and she has a great attention to detail. She was his personal House-Elf since he was a small boy, and if life had been different, she was to be inherited by Emmeline Vance, so when I say that Teemy is an appropriate placement for you here,” Narcissa said, nodding her head towards the rest of the house. “I am rather certain that I am correct in this.”

Harry let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head for a moment before he finally looked at Narcissa, giving the older woman a sharp nod. “Okay, she can stay here.”

“Perfect,” Narcissa said, her teeth showing when she smiled. “Then Pansy will be here tomorrow and give some guidance on what will honour the Blacks while making this clear that you are not the same.”

Narcissa was out the Floo just as quickly as she had disappeared, leaving Harry standing in the entry with his mouth dropped open, shaking his head in disbelief at what had just occurred.

#

The last time that Pansy Parkinson had even thought about approaching Grimmauld Place was when she had the misguided idea that Harry Potter deserved an apology for what she had done at Hogwarts. That had quickly gone into the pile of ideas that never should see the light of day—even quicker was the reality that she didn’t want to be in the same room for the boy-hero-turned-Auror. Pansy didn’t want to be the one to apologize—she didn’t want to be the one to humble herself and admit that maybe, just possibly, she might have overreacted to so many things in a moment of panic.

She just wanted to move on.

And move on she did—Pansy was proud of the fact that she was able to build her life up from the shadows, was able to help others figure out what was the best route for them to go when they did bump into… hiccups. It was enlightening and it was something that she cherished now. But Narcissa calling in this particular favour was not one that she had ever expected to have—and it resulted in her standing on the front stoop of Grimmauld Place, her hands in the pockets of her coats and staring at the absolutely ridiculously gaudy knocker on the door.

Which she refused to use, of course.

After all, if she was going to be redoing this particular location in her spare time, then she wasn’t going to give credence to the possibility of keeping that insanity unless there was some misguided attachment on Potter’s end to it. Which she, honestly, couldn’t see why he would be attached to it—but she also couldn’t understand why he seemed to be still attached to the hip to Granger and Weasley after so long unless he was managing to bed both either.

Though, she had to admit, if they were all three sharing a bed, they were keeping it under wraps in a rather spectacular manner. Her, Draco and Blaise hadn’t managed that back in Hogwarts, that’s for certain.

She didn’t expect the door to be ripped open by Potter, however, standing there looking far too casual, comfortable and relaxed for her taste as she raised a carefully manicured eyebrow. “Afternoon, Potter.”

“Parkinson,” he said, tilting his head before he swallowed roughly, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the effort as Pansy watched him for a moment.

It was almost comforting to know that he hadn’t got any better at interacting with people over the years—it at least was one less thing for her to concern herself with. After all, the man didn’t need charm to go along with the influence that he seemed to effortlessly carry within the walls of the Ministry—that would be a problem that Pansy wasn’t sure anyonecould solve. “Narcissa said that you might have a project that would interest me—if you’re willing to have me, at least.”

“Come in,” he said, clearing the doorway for her to step in.

The soles of her shoes barely making a noise as they moved across the wood floor, glancing down to see that it was in desperate need of refinishing and clearing her throat. “…Narcissa didn’t exaggerate about how much work this place needed,” she said softly.

“Does she do that often?”

Glancing at Harry, Pansy hesitated before she nodded her head. “She did raise Draco.”

The laugh that Harry let escape his throat was unexpected on his part, not expecting the woman to call a long-time family friend out on something like that, particularly not someone with the influence that Narcissa Malfoy carried with her. “I would have thought—”

“No,” Pansy said, biting back a smile. “Look, I don’t know what you have for ideas for this house, but—”

“I want it gone, burned to the ground,” Harry said, wincing at how that sounded before he let out a slow breath. “Sirius hated this home, he hated being here and he had to spend so much bloody time here when he got out and—”

“Then why do you still have it?” she asked softly, crossing her arms against her chest as they made their way further into the house. “Why did you keep the house and not burn it down?”

“Well—honestly?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “The wards made it pretty clear that they wouldn’t allow one of the heirs to burn the house down when it wouldn’t catch.”

“Oh,” Pansy said, chuckling. “Oh, well, that would be a good reason, I’ll admit.” Clearing her throat, she looked around the room, “It’s not as dirty as Narcissa made it out to be, I’ll admit.”

“…she forced a House-Elf on me.”

“I told her it would be the easiest way to make this work for me,” Pansy said with a shrug, gnawing on her lip for a moment before she pulled her hands out of her pockets along with a mobile phone and watched as Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You know Muggle technology?”

“I know a lot of things,” she said with a shrug, holding the phone up and taking a few photos. “I don’t think that you know me anywhere near as well as you seem to think that you do, Potter,” Pansy said with a shrug.

“What would you do with this space?”

“What I would do doesn’t matter,” she said with a shrug. “What is your plans for here? Do you want to live here or sell it? Do you want to raise a family here or just forever remain just you and—”

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I meant—”

“What I would do with this space isn’t what matters,” Pansy said gently, shifting and leaning against one of the walls as she looked at him. “I don’t live here, this isn’t my legacy or a place that I’ll ever step foot in once we’re done with this. But it is a place that you need to be comfortable with, and I’d wager a guess that you haven’t ever truly felt comfortable anywhere in your life without feeling the edge of impending disaster.”

“You—” Harry hesitated, narrowing his eyes at Pansy for a moment before he let out a slow breath and gave her a sharp nod. The Dursley’s was enough of an explanation without going into the details, the Gryffindor Common Room was an entirely different story that he didn’t want to get into with Pansy Parkinson and he had known that he wouldn’t belong at the Weasley’s long term unless he married Ginny. And that door was certainly closed.

Even his flat had been a blend of him and Gin—it hadn’t been a place that he felt like he could let his guard down fully after the war, it wasn’t somewhere that he knew he could come home and not give a care as to what someone saw there. And maybe that should have been his first sign that it wasn’t working.

“Me what?” Pansy said, smirking at him as she raised her eyebrow. “Look, I make a living off of being able to see things that other people don’t, I am not sure that you should be surprised.”

“I don’t even really know what you do,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you’d want to do this for me after everything.”

“Because sometimes we need to fix things when we lived in a world that was always broken,” Pansy said, shrugging her shoulder. “Remaking homes into something that works is something that makes me feel like I’m balancing well enough.”

“And yet you’re the one that—”

“Oh, one second,” Pansy said suddenly, tapping on her device when it starting ringing and holding it up to her ear, “One second, Dean,” she said softly, moving through his home as though she’d been there a hundred times before. “I just gotta get to a quiet spot. What’d he do now?”

This was a bloody mistake. Harry was about his mind and he wasn’t sure what the split with Ginny was doing to him, but it certainly wasn’t something that he was going to be okay with when it came down to it—it wasn’t something that he was going to be able to control if it got much worse. But the fact that Pansy was here in his godfather’s home, talking to him like they didn’t have a history that should have landed one of them in Azkaban and another in the grace, was something that wasn’t going to make Harry’s dreams any better. It wasn’t going to make the fact that he couldn’t quite shake the dream of his mother’s ring on her finger disappear into the wind.

Narcissa Malfoy might not know what it was that she was doing, but it wasn’t helping Harry whatsoever.

He simply didn’t know what it was about Pansy that set his teeth on edge, that made him want to just shove her right back outside of the door of his home and never look back. The Pansy that he saw in the halls of the Ministry, the one that had primly answered the phone and was seemingly talking to Dean Thomas, was not the same that Pansy that had walked through his front door. After all, the one that he saw was wearing shoes that didn’t make a ridiculous amount of noise, that didn’t push the woman to be taller than so many of the people around them.

No, the Pansy Parkinson that was roaming through Sirius’ home was more calm, collected, patient in all the ways that he had never seen her be in Hogwarts. He could get used to the Pansy Parkinson that was roaming around his house, but it certainly wouldn’t let him forget the way that she had looked at him like he was the only person that mattered in her life—like she would have been destroyed if he was gone.

Ginny had never looked like that, at any point in the war, she would have survived without him—the woman would have managed without his presence but in that bloody dream that he couldn’t quite shake, it was Pansy that looked at him with a devotion that he had only ever seen in photographs before. The little moving pictures that were of his parents, the few of his grandparents that he had found in the vault after the war, the one that he had found buried in Sirius’ drawer of him and some woman that he didn’t recognize. It had never been that with Gin, no matter how hard they had tried to make sure that it happen.

“I’m sorry,” Pansy said, clearing her throat as she stepped back into the room, Harry’s head snapping up to look at her. “Dean and I have been working with a more difficult client as of late. What were you saying?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said, waving his hand before he took a small breath. “Do you want to see the house?”

“I’ve been hearing about it my entire life,” Pansy said softly, her lips quirking up into a smile. “Of course I bloody want to see this place.”

#

It weeks that spanned after their first encounter were tense, awkward, and Pansy wasn’t sure how she was supposed to navigate Harry-fucking-Potter not being able to talk around her, keeping his mouth shut and giving her next to no guidance as to what he wanted this bloody house to look like. The difference between the Harry that she had seen in Hogwarts compared to the Harry that he had seemingly turned into was immense—it was life changing and it would forever be something that Pansy wasn’t sure she’d be able to wrap her head around.

The Harry that brought her tea while she was holding up fabric swatches amongst the various rooms with the new colours of paint was not the Harry that she had spent her formative years hearing about.

This was a grown man, wearing his confidence in silence and a contentment as to his situation that seemed to bleed into every conversation that they managed to have. Pansy Parkinson was keenly aware that he was different than any other man that she had encountered in her years, and he was immensely different from any of their other classmates that had gone through the war with each of them.

“I think the green,” he said quietly from the doorway, leaning against the wood as she sat on the floor, carpet squares laying around the room that Pansy had spent the better part of the last three weekends floating around.

“I’m thinking that maybe wood floors would be better,” she said, glancing over at him for a moment. “I’m pretty sure that I could get a builder to match the wood floors that are downstairs for these rooms on the second floor, but I’m wondering if they might be too dark for what I’m going for.”

“What are you going for then, Parkinson?” Harry said, his lips quirking up into a small smile as he watched her, fingers brushing against the carpet.

“Gentle,” she said immediately.

Harry’s eyes darted over to meet hers when she raised her gaze to his, clearing his throat for a moment before he just kept looking at her. She was softer than he had ever thought that she could be—and more of Pansy seemed to remind him of the woman in those bloody dreams the more time that they spent together and the more weekends that seemed to stack up spent together. That woman— “You think that a room can be gentle?”

Patting the spot next to her, Pansy shifted to make room before Harry lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs as looking at her before she let out a slow breath, “Have you ever walked into a room before and just known that you can be whatever you need to in those moments and those walls would handle it with a grace and gentleness that maybe you’ve never seen before?”

“I—” Harry started before he realize that he had. “The Room of Requirements,” he said gently, shaking his head. “At least before—”

“That is fair,” Pansy said softly, gnawing on her lip for a moment before she let out a soft sigh. “That was my first place that I felt like I could fully let my shields down. There was soft carpet, a fireplace, books—but the most important part was the bloody delicious hot chocolate that was there. What did the room have for you when you felt like it could hug you?”

“It—” Harry hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard before he looked around the room. “The walls were a softer colour. I don’t hate the dark ones, but it does feel welcoming.”

“Maybe a soft blue?” Pansy said, tilting her head to the side and biting her lip when Harry looked back over at her, reaching over and tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I’m thinking softer than the sky, but almost right before it started to rain at Hogwarts when the light softened.”

He looked at her for a moment, a slow smile forming on his lips before he cleared his throat and forced himself to lean back. “How do you do that?”

Softening, Pansy looked at him for a moment before she shook her head. “You say it like I’m reading your mind or something.”

“Draco’s known to do it.”

“Draco is a different case,” Pansy said, shaking her head for a moment. “No, I’m good at reading the way that people move and between the lines—I’m good at figuring out what people like to surround themselves with and if you haven’t noticed this about yourself, you wear a lot of blue.”

“I—” Harry looked down at his shirt before he cleared his throat and nodded. “Right.”

“If you could change one thing about this house that we haven’t talked about yet, what would it be?” she asked quietly, nudging the carpet squares out of the way and stretching her legs out. “Even if it isn’t possible, or you think that it isn’t, what would you change?”

“Bloody hell,” Harry said, running his fingers through his hair before he looked at Pansy. “I hate the tapestry.”

“The…” Pansy hesitated, her eyebrows pulling together. “You have so many bloody tapestries throughout this house, Potter, some are essentially rugs, some are in rooms, some are in storage. Which one?”

“The Black family one,” he said with a shrug, shaking his head. “I fucking hate it, but I haven’t been able to figure out how to get it down and I’m guessing that it’s a part of the house, like a wall, but—”

“Walls can be removed,” Pansy said, gnawing on her lip for a moment before she glanced at him. “Let me look into a few things and see what I can do to get it removed.”

“Pansy—”

“I’m serious, Potter, so just let me.”

“You’re already spending your weekends and evenings here, working on a home that isn’t even remotely yours and it’s—”

“It’s better than the alternative,” she interrupted, clearing her throat. “I don’t want to sit in a room and run through variables with attorneys on whether my father gets out or not—I know what happens if he does and I know what happens if he doesn’t. The rest of it doesn’t matter to me. I have just as much law knowledge as they do.”

“I always forget that your a barrister,” Harry said softly, shaking his head. “You don’t use it like Nott does.”

“No one uses it like Nott,” Pansy said with a smirk, leaning back on her elbows and looking at the ceiling. “What do you think about adding a ceiling like the Great Hall in here? Something that’ll show clouds and the night sky.”

Harry recognized that the woman was deflecting, maybe outright ignoring the fact that the countdown was ticking away in regards to her father and the possibility of him getting out for parole and he was rather certain that Draco and Narcissa had said nothing about the fact that they were working to ensure that the man was in Azkaban for longer than he originally planned. If it was the only thing that he was able to do for Pansy, it was something that he was going to work his hardest to ensure the man didn’t get back out to effect her all over again.

“I think that if you’re able to do the charms work, then you might be in the wrong business,” he said with a smirk, leaning forward and resting his elbows against his knees. “This is one of the last rooms you’ve still got to do, right?”

“Anxious to get rid of me already, Potter?” Pansy said, raising an eyebrow at him, a small smile appearing back on her lips. “We’ve got this room and the tapestry room and I think it’s the library left to do.”

“My bedroom,” he said suddenly, clearing his throat as he looked at her. “We still haven’t gone over that.”

“I assumed that you’d want to have a more personal touch to your space,” Pansy said carefully, her hesitation clear before she let out a soft sigh. “Most people would rather not have someone that is basically a stranger redo their bedroom.”

“Maybe I don’t consider you a stranger anymore, Pansy,” he said softly, holding her gaze before she broke it. “By no means do you have to redo it though, I’ll admit, you’re doing this in your bloody free time because Narcissa bullied both of us.”

“She doesn’t bully,” Pansy said quickly, clearing her throat. “She strategically argues.”

Harry couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his lips, shaking his head as he looked at Pansy for a moment before the grin split his face open, slowly nodding at the woman. “I’ll give you the fact that she definitely is strategic—maybe the favour of whatever it is that she wants, but bloody hell…” Shaking his head, Harry plucked one of the books off of the ground that Pansy had laying out, shaking his head. “The woman talked me into keeping a bloody House-Elf.”

“Teemy is amazing though,” Pansy said, “I don’t know that I have met many other House-Elves that are better than her.”

“Look—whether or not Narcissa was right to make me keep her wasn’t the point—”

“I think it would be Narcissa’s point,” she said with a grin.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair before he shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of decisions being forced on me.”

“Welcome to Pure-Blood society,” Pansy said, waving a hand in front of her towards the house. “You get what you get and you’re supposed to do what you’re told, and if you don’t…” She hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard before she looked around the office space. “I don’t know, there are consequences, our lives are littered with the stories of those that had to do things they might not have if they were given the choice. Did she tell you what happened to Teemy’s last family?”

“Mulciber?” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, the man died at Hogwarts if I remember the name right.”

“And who Teemy was willed to?”

“Yeah, I thought—” Harry stopped himself, his eyes darting to Pansy before he shook his head. “I didn’t think—”

“Vance was on your side, right?”

“…yeah.”

“But they were close enough that he would have willed his family House-Elf to her?”

Harry hesitated for a moment before he slowly nodded. “I honestly didn’t think about it.”

“So many of us weren’t given a chance to make a decision in regards to our alliance, our family, it wasn’t just Draco,” she said softly. “We get good at navigating the people around us—we deal in secrets as currency and we navigate the world of the Ministry better than Muggle’s navigate the Underground.”

His mouth dropping open, Harry looked at her for a moment before he shook his head. “You know what the Underground is.”

Pansy smirked, nudging his foot with her own before she nodded, “I’m a dynamic person, Potter.”

“Clearly,” he said with a smile. “It’ll almost be lonely here when you’re done fixing this house.”

Biting back a smile, Pansy slowly nodded, “It’s going to be quiet for me too when we’re done with this—my apartment certainly doesn’t have a loud Gryffindor inhabiting it.”

“You pretend that you hate all of us, you know, but you’re friends with some, you’re spending your evenings with me, bloody hell, you employ Dean as a part of your company.”

“Dean is brilliant.”

“Dean also won’t drink pumpkin juice and hides chocolate in his bloody bag, it’s a thing,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “He’s not the typical companion for a Slytherin.”

“I’m not fucking him, Potter,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “We work well together in the office, we work well making sure that people salvage their reputations when they make a bloody stupid and reckless decision like doing blow off of a Muggle call girl’s when you’re advocating for increased Pure-Blood rights—”

“Because they shouldn’t be,” Harry interrupted.

“—or when you’re insistent that everyone change their stance on the rights of creatures and Muggle-Borns while secretly funding groups to eradicate werewolves from society,” Pansy said, raising an eyebrow at Harry before she sighed. “It’s a bipartisan problem, Potter, I’d even say a human issue.”

“…right.”

“I judge them in my personal life, but I solve the problem in my professional,” she said with a shrug. “And keep my head above water while doing it.”

“…how do you rationalize that?”

Hesitating for a moment, Pansy looked over at him and sighed. “Truthfully? Because there were people in both wars that shouldn’t have gone to Azkaban but didn’t have the right person to represent them—legally or within the public opinion—and everyone was out for blood after you killed Him.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised at that, looking at her for a moment before he cleared his throat. “What are you talking about?”

Pansy shook her head before she looked around the room. “Your godfather didn’t have a trial the first go-around, Potter,” Pansy shrugged her shoulders before she sighed. “But swinging the opposite direction? That doesn’t bring the right solutions either. Lucius should be in Azkaban and not spending his life locked in Malfoy Manor with all of the privileges there. But Draco? He should have never had to spend time in Azkaban. Theo should have never had to spend time in Azkaban. Thicknesse shouldn’t have been in Azkaban as long as he was, but it was easier than admitting that no one was willing to try to snap him out of whatever was going on.”

“Parkin—”

“They deserved better and no one did anything,” Pansy said softly, shaking her head.

“Pansy…” Harry said gently, reaching over and grabbing her hand. “After the war was bloody difficult—Theo and Draco? They never should have had to be subjected to Azkaban, but it wasn’t something that I could have changed.”

Pansy shook her head, biting her lip for a moment before she let out a soft breath. “I know you couldn’t—the fact is that you shouldn’t have to change it. There should have been people there to fight the battle with the Prophet, with the courts, and there hasn’t been, at least there hadn’t been enough of them. And I like to talk people into things they wouldn’t normally do,” she said with a shrug. “Like you getting rid of that bloody awful couch that you were obsessed with.”

Harry rolled his eyes, looking over her and letting his eyes linger on her, not for the first time since they had started this project, but certainly for the first time this close. The freckles had seemed to increase when he got closer, her eyes were brighter, and that small slope of her nose before it turned up had somehow managed to soften over the years. Pansy who stood in front of him now was almost unrecognizable compared to the Pansy that he had started Hogwarts with.

That was the only reason he could use to explain why he leaned across some of the books and pressed his lips against hers, unprompted and unexpected to both of them.

#

Truthfully, Pansy Parkinson had no idea what had gotten into Narcissa when she owled her—the woman was still woefullystubborn about carrying a mobile device—and said that she had a proposition for Pansy that she would actually enjoy. Remodeling Harry’s inherited home was not on the list of possibilities. But it had meant that she’d got a decent distraction just when she needed it—just when she needed to escape the Ministry and the possibility of her father getting out of Azkaban, exerting control over her life all over again.

And the man, for all his faults, was particularly accommodating to her about almost everything that she wanted to do to the home.

Ripping out the shelves in the office area and installing something fresh, clean, patching the doorway that led to a secret office that had houses some of the darker texts that Harry had promptly turned over to the Ministry? Done.

Repainting every inch of the house in various colours, trying her hardest to imbed calm and peace into a place that had housed so much grief that sometimes it was almost as though she could feel it in the walls? Done.

Her particularly reckless idea to tear down one of the walls in the guest room and make it a suite in the case that he had families stay with him from time to time? He hadn’t even bloody hesitated.

Pansy didn’t know the Harry that she had gone to school with, not truthfully—not in a meaningful way. She had known the rumours that floated around about him constantly and she had known everything that Draco seemed to think about the man. Even moreso, she heard more about who Harry Potter really was for Dean when they started working together. The boy that he had once become but certainly not the man that she was encountering now—not the man whose eyes lingered on her, not in the way that he seemed to ask her questions, and certainly not in the seemingly unaware, confident way that the man moved around his home.

The Harry Potter that Pansy had watched in Hogwarts was one that seemed to walk in uncertainty—it wasn’t until their fifth year that he had started to grow into his own and it certainly wasn’t until the Battle of Hogwarts that she had started to see glimpses of who he would eventually become, standing in his home and figuring out who he was without one of the Weasley’s for the first time since their schooling had started.

Picking out the right paint swatch for a room wasn’t supposed to send a shiver down her spine and him lingering close to her side as they tried to figure out what stain it was matched some of the shelving in the library certainly shouldn’t cause her to want a cold shower.

No, there were a lot of things that Pansy was incredibly comfortable saying she wasn’t sure of—Harry Potter was never something that should have landed on that list.

“You asked for some texts on removing family tapestries?” Draco said, raising an eyebrow at Pansy. “Are you preparing early for your father to come home?”

“Bloody hell,” Pansy muttered, shaking her head. “No. Definitely not on the list of possibilities,” she muttered, biting her lip. “Potter wants to see if we can get the Black family tapestry removed from the wall, so I figured that your family would be a good place to start seeing if it was possible.”

“The one in Grimmauld Place?”

“I have never quite understood your necessity for asking questions that you know the answer to,” Pansy said, shaking her head. “The family home, the only one that the Black’s passed down to their designated heirs. Of course it is Grimmauld Place.”

“To be fair, there are four homes,” Draco said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know if Potter knows that, but it definitely is not just Grimmauld Place—I think it’s part of why mother was disappointed that I didn’t end up inheriting.”

“Bitter?” Pansy said with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not like you have enough property as it is.”

Pansy watched as Draco straightened, clearing his throat for a just a moment before he caught himself. “No. I’m not bitter, but I’m not surprised that Potter doesn’t know what he truly was taking on.”

“He just wants the tapestry removed at this point,” she said softly, gnawing on her lip before she looked around the library. “I don’t know if it’s a Black that needs to be the one removing it either, which is likely contributing to the difficulty.”

“I would say the heir,” he said, pulling a text off of a shelf and handing it to her. “This has a large amount of the charms work in regards to the household for here, so it should give you a place to begin.”

“Dangerous information to give me, Draco,” she said with a smirk. “What if I decide to start moving everything around your wretched flat.”

“You know the wards will alert me and then you will be unceremoniously evicted from the property. Or do you not remember when you tried to change the colours of my walls?”

Pansy grumbled, shaking her head before she hugged the text against her chest. “…thank you.”

“Look, I know that Potter and I have our differences—”

“Him throwing his weight behind werewolf legislative reform isn’t differences.”

“Differences,” Draco repeated, shaking his head. “And for the record, the fact that he went against what I was advocating for is a difference, Pans.”

“It’s out and out arguments if the fight in the halls of the Ministry was an indication. I’m pretty bloody sure the clean up from that is what got me to afford my flat.”

“Listen,” Draco snapped, shaking his head as he crossed his arms in front of him, eyes piercing Pansy as she slowly raised an eyebrow. “We’ve come to an arrangement, and it’s part of why he stays out of my political aspirations.”

“Your aspirations are bloody insane,” she muttered, shaking her head for a moment. “I still don’t know that I can make you into the Minister of Magic.”

“Wilder things have happened,” he said with a shrug.

“…I think that Granger has aspirations.”

“Excuse me?” Draco said, straightening as he shifted to face her fully, his eyes widened a smidgen more than his usual, making Pansy’s lips curve into a soft smile before he groaned. “I cannot go up against Hermione Granger.”

“What? Do you think that she would beat you?” she teased, not bothering to bite back the grin before she let out a soft chuckle. “You always did have a soft spot for her once she punched you in the bloody nose.”

Draco groaned, dropping his head back as he took a slow breath, trying to focus on not yelling at one of his best friends before looking back at her. “Look, you’re the one that would be running my campaign, so it would be you losing just as much as me.”

“I don’t lose.”

“I know,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, if I run for Minister of Magic, who else would I get besides you to believe in me.”

“If you run, then you’re going to have to get most of the wizarding world to believe in you,” Pansy said softly, biting her lip. “I think that Head Warlock is a better position for you to be in—let Hermione take the public hits when legislation doesn’t go her way while you craft the wizarding world around the reforms that are needed.”

Chuckling, Draco shook his head for a moment before he sighed, “I don’t think that either option is going to happen in the next decade.”

Pausing, Pansy considered for a moment before she leaned back in her chair and looked at Draco. “Seven years. Give me seven years and I can get you into the Wizengamot council, if you continue to hold your family seat and don’t go gallivanting around the world.”

“Pansy—”

“I’m serious.”

“You don’t need to cash in favours for me to do something like this, not now, not after everything that you do already.”

“I’d be your campaign manager,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that it comes with the territory of what you’re talking about anyways.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts,” Pansy said with a shrug, holding up the book that he’d handed her. “If this works and it means that I am able to finish the last room for Harry, then we’re even and I take your campaign seriously. We start making moves to actually get you into a place that carries influence and you can craft what your end goals are… and potentially start coordinating with Granger if she is seriously considering moving into a lane to run for Minister.”

“Are you thinking that she might not?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. “I would have thought—”

“I think that if she isn’t, there’s a strategic reason. That woman is far more of a Slytherin than we give her credit for.”

“You think? I would have said Ravenclaw.”

“She cursed someone with a signed contract!” Pansy exclaimed, shaking her head. The laugh that escaped Draco’s chest surprised Pansy, the woman shaking her head for a few long moments before she let out a heavy sigh. “I’m serious about you considering this—even though Granger is going to be bloody terrifying.”

“No more terrifying than you would be,” he said with a shrug. “Now, why don’t you tell me what is going on between you and Potter—he gets rather closed lipped when I ask questions.”

“You’re asking questions, are you?” Pansy said, clearing her throat for a moment before she let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on with us.”

“You don’t… know,” Draco said carefully, narrowing his eyes as he watched his friend before he cleared his throat. “The man is trying to figure out how to keep your father in prison, Parks, and you’re expecting me to believe that there is nothing going on between the two of you?”

Pansy froze when the words hit her, fingers tightening slightly around the book as she raised her gaze to look at Draco. “Excuse me?”

“…you didn’t know?”

“No,” Pansy said firmly, shaking her head. “I don’t understand why—”

Her eyes slammed closed as the realization washed over her, swallowing hard for a moment before she cleared her throat, refusing to open her eyes and look at Draco. The lingering looks, the occasional touches, that bloody kiss that had seemingly been haunting her dreams that had felt like it came out of nowhere was starting to click into place. Whatever had caused it, whatever it was that had made the man’s opinion of her dramatically change was something that she hadn’t been able to piece together. But it was more than impulsive decisions if he was trying to ensure that Archibald stayed in Azkaban. It was more than just a simple mistake because of proximity.

“You don’t understand why?” Draco said, raising an eyebrow. “The woman who prides herself in observing everything around her doesn’t understand why Harry Potter would be putting some of his clout and reputation on the line for you?”

“Shut up,” Pansy growled.

“I have to admit, I never thought that I would see the day come that you weren’t really sure what it was that was going to happen with you.”

“Dray,” Pansy said, her tone warning and shaking her head.

“For some reason that no one is going to understand, it appears that the boy wonder is interested in you.”

“I—” Pansy bit her tongue, letting out a slow breath through her nose before she sighed. “I didn’t think that’s what he meant.”

“What he means?” Draco’s lips curved into a smirk. “Is that why you have been avoiding him since he kissed you?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I said we had an arrangement, Parkinson.”

“And that arrangement means that you’re asking questions about me instead of just asking me?” Pansy said, raising an eyebrow upward. “You’re bloody ridiculous.”

“No, that was a free little tidbit,” Draco said with a shrug. “He was trying to figure out why you would have pushed him away and avoided him for two weeks.”

“One and a half.” Draco gave her a look, causing Pansy to clear her throat for a moment before she sighed. “Look, it wasn’t as though you’re the easiest person to ask questions to, Pansy, we both know this.”

“You’re worse.”

“I am,” he said, fighting back a smirk. “But only about things that pertain to me.”

“I couldn’t figure out why he would have done it except for an accident, or just some reckless impulse from a bloody Gryffindor.”

“They aren’t that bad, you know,” Draco said with a shrug, clearing his throat. “I think that overall it’s less impulsive and more willing to take the risk of something bad happening.”

Pansy let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at the man before she sighed. “You’re bloody insane. Who have you been spending time with, Malfoy?”

“None of your business,” he snapped. “You’re the one making out with the bloody Boy-Who-Can’t-Figure-Out-Death and then running.”

“I didn’t run,” Pansy said with a roll of her eyes. “But I have been avoiding him.”

“You’re in the middle of a project with him,” Draco pointed out.

“That I’m doing for free.”

“That you’re ignoring under the premise that you can’t finish it until you figure out the tapestry.”

Pansy hesitated for a moment before she gnawed on her lip, letting out a soft sigh before she shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Tell him you don’t want to shag?”

She couldn’t believe that she was being this ridiculous—that she was actually hesitating at the the idea of rejecting Harry, of putting him far in the rear view mirror of her life and moving forward with every other plan that she had. This was something that she had never anticipated that she would roll around her head—whether she wanted to try that again with a clear head and a focus on the boy that she had once tried to send to his death. Would she regret the idea of keeping Harry close rather than using him to ensure her safety?

That was a question that she couldn’t know the answer to unless she was somehow able to tell the future—and Merlin knew she hadn’t been gifted in Divination.

“You’re so bloody annoying,” Pansy muttered, shaking her head before she let out a slow breath. “Do you have any texts that will help me get that bloody charred monstrosity off of the wall?”

“Yes,” Draco said, “but you have the only thing that you truly need. If the house is set up similarly to how my mother set up ours, then all Harry should have to do is be the one to cast the dislodging spell and then the tapestry should remove itself if all goes according to tradition.”

“It can’t be that simple,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Are you telling me that you think that neither Harry or his godfather tried that?”

“I’m saying that Potter didn’t want to live there, he had a bloody flat that he bought all himself with Ginerva, so you think that he even thought about what he was going to do to that house until Mother pushed her way through the door?"

“I—” Pansy hesitated for a moment before she swallowed, thinking of her own family home for a few moments before she nodded her head. “I didn’t think about the fact that he wouldn’t have wanted to be there.”

“He didn’t even live there.”

Pansy cleared her through before she gave a sharp nod. “I get it, okay?”

“From what Mother said about Sirius, he would have burned the home down if he was able,” Draco said quietly. “I don’t expect that he had pleasant memories of that home.”

“Like here at the manor.”

“Somewhat,” Draco said with a shrug, clearing his throat. “What are you going to do?”

Pansy raised her eyes to meet Draco’s, gnawing on her lip for a moment before she let out a slow breath and shook her head. “I’m going to get the tapestry down.”

#

Pansy hadn’t really expected that the tapestry would be infinitely harder to get off of the wall in comparison to the last Black matriarch, but somehow it had managed to lodge itself to the wall and was content to stay there until it rotted. Not that Pansy was convinced that it even was able to rot when it came down to it. No, she was pretty certain that the reality of the situation was that it would mimic the condition of the house—it seemed cleaner, the colours clearer, now that Pansy had spent the months clearing out the house with Teemy and navigating the uniqueness of the home.

Now the only recourse was that she had to stop avoiding the owner, she had to confront the fact that the kiss hadn’t necessarily been an impulsive thought in his mind and that maybe he had more interest in her than how most others viewed her. That maybe, just maybe, Harry was interested in her for more than what she could do for him.

“Do you have a moment?” Pansy asked, clearing her throat when she entered the office, leaning against the door and watching him as he shifted, moving around as he set the stack of books he had in his hand on the desk and finally looked at her. They really were a remarkable shade of green, unique and bright and she wasn’t entirely sure how she hadn’t noticed just how different they were from her own. “I’ve been trying some things to get the tapestry off, but I think that we’re onto my last idea.”

“You’re—I didn’t think that you would actually try to get it off of the wall,” Harry said, rubbing his palms against his Muggle jeans before he cleared his throat. “I know that I said—”

“If I can get it off of the wall, I will, but I think that it is a matter for the heir of the home to be the one to remove it, no one else.”

“But then—”

“It would just mean that someone that wasn’t intended to have the house can’t remove what would be considered a family heirloom,” Pansy said softly, shaking her head. “Pure-Bloods tend to be rather possessive of things that are of historic importance, and our family legacy?”

“…you’re protective over that,” Harry said suddenly, clearing his throat before he nodded. “I would have thought about that if it wasn’t for the fact that I know next to nothing about Pure-Blood culture.”

Hesitating for a moment, Pansy looked at him and blinked, processing his words before she shook her head. “…what do you think that you inherited from your godfather?”

“I mean—” Harry shrugged his shoulders, crossing his arms and causing the bunched up sleeves of his shirt to pull up slightly, more of the ink on his forearms showing and causing Pansy to swallow hard. “The house, his vault. I don’t know that there was much more.”

“Who was supposed to be the executor of the estate?” Pansy said, shaking her head. “There’s more to it than that.”

“There is?”

“Bloody hell, Potter,” Pansy muttered. “What in the world is going on with you lot?”

“Look, Dumbledore was—”

“That’s all you need to say,” Pansy muttered, running a hand through her hair. “You need to actually get an attorney to look at the paperwork of the estate, and I would wager a guess that you need to have them look at the paperwork of what you would have inherited from the Potters.”

“I mean… the vault?” Harry asked hesitantly, wincing when Pansy narrowed his eyes at her before she cleared her throat. “I’m guessing there’s more.”

“There’s—” Pansy shook her head and swallowed hard, pushing the argument off to the side before she looked at him. “Your home is a landmark,” Pansy said carefully. “I’d wager a guess that it is yours, Potter, the one in Godric’s Hollow.”

“I couldn’t—”

“I’m not saying to live there,” she said quickly, clearing her throat. “I’m saying that you need to know what you’re responsible for—what people in your life gave to you to ensure that you would be okay and wouldn’t have to worry if something happened to them that you’d be taken care of.”

Pansy watched Harry hesitate, the thought running through his head before he was clearing his throat and looking around his office before back at Pansy and shaking his head. “I don’t know that I want to know.”

“Then when you’re ready—there’s some bloody good estate attorneys that can help you wade through whatever it is that you’re dealing with.”

“…I thought that Dumbledore gave me everything of my parents that was in the vault and a couple other items.”

“Harry,” Pansy said softly, biting her lip before she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

He gave a sharp shake of his head before he pushed away from the desk, brushing by her and down the hall, his feet planted in front of the tapestry by the time that Pansy joined him with her own arms crossed in front of her chest, a small sigh escaping his lips. “They would have blasted Draco’s name off of this too, you know,” he muttered.

“For what?” Pansy asked, raising an eyebrow. “Taking the Dark Mark? Attempting to kill Professor Dumbledore? Or making sure that you were able to win the war in the end?”

“That was Narcissa, truthfully,” he said, swallowing hard. “Probably the lot of it—especially if they knew that he fought some of it.”

“My father would have blasted me off of our family tapestry if he knew the kind of thoughts that ran through my head in Hogwarts,” Pansy said with a shrug. “I think that many were struggling with that while enduring the pressure of their families.”

“You really think that we can get this off?”

“I mean, you’re the best option since you’re the heir—otherwise I think that we take the wall down and put it in the Black vaults in case a future generation gets particularly curious,” she said with a shrug.

“They don’t have a vault,” Harry said, shaking his head.

Pansy chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, the Black family most definitely has their own vault, Potter.”

Harry froze for a split second before her pulled his wand out of his pocket, clearing his throat and muttering a spell underneath his breath to test the waters, his lips quirking into a smile when he saw the tapestry flutter as though it was hit with the wind. “What one do you think will work?”

“Draco thought a Dislodging Spell would likely work to get it to detatch.”

Nodding, Harry twisted his wrist, Pansy watching as the light shot from his wand and hit the tapestry, the fabric fluttering for a moment before primly rolling itself up and right onto the floor in a neat pile. The paint behind it was a different colour than the previously exposed wall, but Pansy wasn’t worried about that—she wasn’t worried about the fact that she was knee deep in a restoration. What her mind was focused on was the grin on Harry’s face, the pure magic that seemed to be vibrating off of him before he swept her up into his arms. “You bloody brilliant witch,” he muttered, burying his face in her neck.

Truthfully, Pansy wasn’t sure what it was that she was supposed to do with her hands, and she certainly wasn’t what it was that she was supposed to do until she had unconsciously wrapped her arms around him in return, her nose pressed against his hair. Refusing to acknowledge that he might be right, Pansy cleared her throat and carefully shook her head. “You’re the one that did it,” she muttered. “Draco’s the one that suggested it. Really, you lot didn’t even need me for this part.”

“You think that i could have done anything that’s been done in this house without you?” Harry muttered, shaking his head for a moment before he let out a small noise, pulling back from Pansy and holding her face in his hands. “I know that you’re bloody content to hide from me, Pansy Parkinson, but you took my life by storm months ago and it isn’t as though I’m ever going to be able to go back to the way that it was—the way that this house looks? The fact that ghosts are on my heels in every bloody room? That’s you.”

She bloody hated being embarrassed—embarrassed with any kind of acknowledgement about what she was doing wasn’t anything that she wanted, it was something that she ran from every time. It was why she had no political ambitions, it was why she thrived working in the shadows, it was why she spent her days working around the press rather than facing them head on. And yet the man in front of her was complimenting her anyways—was acknowledging that she had made some sort of lasting impact on him and Pansy was woman enough to admit that it made her heartbeat flutter.

It made everything slow down as she looked at him, her lips parted slightly before she decided that maybe throwing caution to the wind wasn’t always a bad thing. Maybe it was time for Pansy to doing something impulsive and that was just solely for her and no one else. And kissing Harry Potter, in all of his careless hair and bad fashion decisions, was the only thing that Pansy could do that made sense to her in the moment.

The swoop in her stomach and the way that he pulled her tighter against him wasn’t something that Pansy had expected—she hadn’t through that she would find herself gasping into his mouth, his tongue effortless against hers. What did her in, however, was threading her fingers into his hair, groaning against his lips before it was Harry that wrenched himself away from her.

His breath coming out in pants, Pansy could feel herself in a haze of pleasure, not quite fully conscious of what she was doing as she stepped forward. But Harry stopped her, hands up in front of him before he cleared his throat. “We can’t.”

“I—”

“We can’t do this, Pansy.”

Pansy’s mouth dropped open slightly, watching him for a moment as she swallowed. “Right, of course. It isn’t as though you started this, of course.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, shaking his head for a second before he swallowed hard. “Pansy—”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, turning on her heel and striding across the room to the fireplace, stepping in and calling out, “Pansy Parkinson Flat” before he could stop her.