Recipe For Disaster (Part 2/3) - a gift for pokeystar
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. All fics posted at this community were written entirely for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.
Title: Recipe For Disaster (Part 2/3)
Author: inadaze22
Gift for: pokeystar
Pairing: Harry/Pansy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: some language
Word Count: 4211
Summary: It all started with two words.
A/N: I nearly screamed when I got this prompt, not sure if it was out of horror or excitement, but it was definitely an interesting one that made me do some thinking before I really got to writing. So, thanks, pokeystar for making me think. Out of the three parts of the prompt, the last one is the most ambiguous, but I think that actually works. I worked hard to stay true to a lot of your listed likes, and there may be a twinge of angst, but nothing serious or intense. I hope you like it. Thanks to F for being an awesome beta, thanks to K for holding my hand through the writing of this story, and R for being my cheerleader. All characters belong to JK. Rowling and all errors are my own.
Chapter Two: An Accident Waiting To Happen
Thursday evening
Pansy looked at her reflection in the mirror and held the robes against her body. She tilted her head to the side, imagining herself in them. They would do just nicely. However, her excitement at the find went cold when she looked at the price tag. While the robes were perfect, the price was not.
“Seventy-five Galleons? For dress robes?” she whispered in frustration.
Beautiful they may be, but inside her budget, they most certainly were not.
“Is this the point where I come in and say that those robes would look good on you?” Hermione asked from the chair next to the mirror. She lowered the book on motherhood that had been previously covering her face.
Why, exactly, had she brought Granger along? She was the worst person to shop with, especially now that she was pregnant. Pansy paused for a moment. Oh right, they were … somewhat friendly. Truth be told, Pansy liked her. She was bossy, nosy, and constantly tried to read her, but at least she cared enough to try. Granger was the closest thing to a friend she had, and Pansy had asked her to come almost on instinct.
But that was her secret.
“You just missed that moment, Granger.”
“Malfo-oh sod it,” she shook her head and dog-eared the page that she’d be reading. “How can I expect you to stop calling me Granger when my own husband doesn’t?” After dropping the book into her beaded bag, Hermione crossed her ankles and absently rested her hand on her baby bump that had grown just in the last few days.
“Some habits never die.” Pansy shrugged.
Hermione snorted. “Now, about those robes ….”
Pansy held them back to her body. “These?”
“Yes, those. Are you going to get them so we can finally go to Florean’s for some ice-cream to satisfy my insane craving?” she asked with a hopeful smile.
Pansy looked at the dress one last time before she put it back on the rack. “No.”
Her smile faded. “Wha-no! What was wrong with this one? It’s perfect!”
“The price isn’t,” she frowned. Granger opened her mouth, but was cut off with a crisp, “Don’t start.”
Money was a forbidden topic. Discussions about it, and Draco and Hermione’s attempt at give it to her, had always led to brutal arguments where they would go weeks without speaking. She didn’t need any charity, and the sooner they understood that, the better. But Granger was fiercely stubborn. Her lips were pursed, and she looked ready to say something. Pansy narrowed her eyes.
The staring contest was on.
However, to her utmost surprise, after only a minute Hermione looked away, pulled her book out, and went back to reading. Pansy didn’t bother to inwardly rejoice in her victory. There was no time.
She went on the hunt again.
“What about the yellow one?” Hermione suggested, pointing at the robes on the rack behind her.
Pansy frowned at the dress robes in question. It probably would look nice on her, if it wasn’t for the horrible colour. “Yellow makes me look like I died and forgot to lie down.”
Hermione’s laughter suddenly rang out in the mildly crowded store, and all eyes were on them. But that wasn’t too much of a surprise. People had been watching them since they’d walked into Madam Malkin’s over half an hour ago. When she calmed down, Hermione used her thumb to dab a tear from her eye. She smiled at Pansy, whose cheeks were flushed from chuckling at her own words. “How about pink robes? I remember you wore pink robes to the Yule Ball-”
“Because my mother made me!” she exclaimed. “I hate pink, but I hated that dress more. I looked like an over-aged fairy princess.” Hermione started laughing again, but Pansy continued, still hot over the memory of the hideous dress. “It was a fluffy catastrophe, and because they were taking pictures, I had to pretend that I actually liked that horrid thing. The first thing I did when I returned to my dorm was burn it.”
“Well, what colours do you look good in?” she asked once she finished laughing.
“Silver, black, green-”
Hermione cut her off, “Don’t even think about wearing House colours.”
Pansy frowned because she’d been considering it. “Why not?”
“We’re not at Hogwarts anymore. Try … mixing it up a bit. You said you look nice in black, what about adding another colour to it. Like a red-”
“So I can look like a checker board?”
“-or white?”
“Oh, so I can upgrade to looking like a chess board?”
“Now you’re just being difficult.”
Pansy ignored her and started to hunt again.
She was about to deem the shopping trip a failure when she saw it-the perfect dress robes. And it wasn’t long before Pansy was walking out of Madam Malkin’s as a satisfied customer with a relieved and smirking Hermione at her side. The dress, which fit her like a well-made leather glove, was still outside her price range, but not horribly so.
She would manage.
Sunset was underway as they made the walk to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, and people were watching them. Hermione had always done a good job of ignoring the whispers, and Pansy did an even better job pretending to ignore them. The media had always done a lot of speculating about Pansy’s friendship with Hermione, and on some level, it bothered her. Some said that she was just another lost cause Hermione had taken interest in. Others said that her “tyrannical husband” had forced her to be friendly with Pansy, his secret lover. That was actually the closest they had gotten to the truth, minus the secret lover bit. Merlin no. Draco had reintroduced them, albeit reluctantly, but it had been Hermione’s idea to bury the past.
Pansy had agreed because, well, she was in need of a friend.
Granger had already started her sundae when Pansy sat down with hers. She started to question why they were sitting outside, but stopped when she saw how stunning the hazy sky looked. They ate their sundaes, sat in silence, ignored the curious glances, and watched as dusk settled on the city. It was only then that the witch sitting opposite her decided to speak. “So where are you two having dinner?”
“Actually, Potter’s cooking.”
Hermione nearly choked on her ice-cream. “Harry’s cooking?” she asked incredulously.
Pansy narrowed her eyes. “Yes … is that a problem?”
“No.” She dipped her spoon back into her ice-cream and chuckled. “It’s just that … Harry can’t cook.”
“I didn’t think he could.” The way he stammered about while making plans had told her that something was up. She figured that the reason Potter had suggested cooking was either because he didn’t want to attract any attention or because he didn’t want to be seen in public with her. It was hard to determine the truth, so she tried not to think about-
Pansy caught two witches sitting a couple of tables down staring at them and shot them such fierce glares that they both looked away immediately, feigning shame. She then turned back to Hermione, whose shoulders were shaking with mirth. Leaning back in her chair, she asked, “What’s so bloody funny, Granger?”
“They’re always going to stare.”
“That doesn’t mean that I have to like it.” Pansy fussed. “Besides, it’s easy for you to say. They’re not staring because of you, but because you’re having ice cream with public enemy number one in the wizarding world.”
Hermione said nothing. “I never pegged you as the type that cared about the opinions of others.”
“I don’t,” she replied tightly.
“Could’ve fooled me.” She smirked slightly, but her tone became serious quick. “It’s okay to care, you know. No one likes to be hated.”
Pansy really hated how accurate Hermione’s observations were. Instead of voicing her annoyance or even the truth, she said nothing. They sat in silence until Granger started prodding-again. “So, are you excited about the date?”
That was a rather personal question, and Pansy didn’t know what to feel about it. She liked the dynamics of their somewhat-friendship, because while Hermione always asked probing questions, she never required that Pansy directly express her feelings. Her questions made her distinctly uncomfortable. “Potter nearly choked to death after I said yes.”
Hermione’s eyes were wide. “Choked?”
“Yes, choked,” she repeated, rolling her eyes at the memory. “It was … strange. I don’t think he expected me to say yes, and he was drinking water … ergo choking.”
Hermione shook her head. “That blockhead.”
“Look, it’s fine. I’m not expecting anything special. It’s just going to be another date.”
“I don’t remember you ever dating anyone before.”
It wasn’t that she hadn’t been in a relationship, because Pansy had-plenty of them-but she didn’t know that. She had never shared that particular part of her life with Hermione. “I’m a private person.”
“That’s an understatement,” she said with a smile and a shake of her bushy head. “It’s been four years since Draco reintroduced us, and I know next to nothing about you.”
Pansy waved her off flippantly. “It’s not like we’re friends, Granger.”
And all of a sudden, things were awkward.
Hermione took to staring in her ice-cream as if it was the key to finding out all the universe’s secrets, and all she could do was stare at the sky. Seconds passed, then minutes. Silence. Yes, too awkward for Pansy’s liking. She hated those moments where all she could do was wonder if she’d done or said something wrong, and this was one of them. So she said the first thing that came to mind. “I, well, there are days when I’m completely jealous of you.”
That did the trick. Hermione’s eyes met hers, then narrowed slightly. “Jealous of me?”
Buggering hell. Now she had to continue, and there was no time to think of a decent lie. “You-you just seem to have it all together. You’re married, you have a great career, and now you’re having a baby. Your life is perfect.”
Hermione laughed. “I can’t complain. But Draco and I, our lives aren’t as perfect as you may think. We have a mountain of obstacles in front of us, and they’re always going to be there.” Pansy could see the distress on her face when she spoke. “His parents hate me, my friends don’t exactly like him, and we still struggle with that. He,” she rubbed her stomach affectionately, “may change things, but he may not. I try not to worry about it.”
“Do you regret anything?” It was out of her mouth before she could snatch it back.
She smiled. “I took a chance, and things may not be perfect, but it’s paid off tenfold. What’s there to regret?”
Pansy said nothing.
“You know …” Granger adjusted in her chair. “It’s not bad to take a chance on something-or someone.”
It wasn’t about her taking the chance; it was all about if that someone wanted to take a chance on her.
Pansy frowned at the thought.
Hermione misunderstood the frown and shook her frizzy head lightly. “You could be happy, Pansy.”
“Like you?” she deadpanned.
“Like me.” Hermione smiled, again.
“Well, at least someone is.” Pansy crinkled her nose. No, she wasn’t supposed to say that. Not aloud, at least. She’d accepted that she wasn’t a happy person, but she wasn’t miserable either. If anything, she was just stuck. Yes, that was a good way to put it. She was stuck in her job and in her life, but she wasn’t going to stress about it, or even feel bad for herself. And she sure as hell didn’t want Granger to pity her, but it was too late. Pity practically radiated off her. Pansy sighed to herself before looking across the table. “I didn’t mean that. I’m not unhappy.”
“Then what are you?”
Merlin, the woman was so damn nosy. It flustered Pansy to no end, and she couldn’t have that. “I’m-I’m just okay. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there isn’t, but you have to want something more than just okay, don’t you? There has to be a part of you that wants something-someone-at the very least. You have to have a heart’s wish, something that you want more than anything.”
“Heart’s wish? What are we, ten again?” Pansy chided with a small smile.
Hermione rolled her eyes and ate another spoonful of ice-cream.
Pansy had no intention of divulging her inner-most feelings to Granger, almost-friend or not. That’s how people got hurt. But, Hermione had a point. There was something she wanted more than anything, something she secretly wished for, and something she would kill for just to have a taste. Pansy struggled to put it into actual words, but she wanted-wanted to be wanted, appreciated, and taken seriously. She wanted to be considered, not as a last resort, but as an actual choice. Her cheeks burned. “But I’m practical, too. It’s not likely to happen.”
“You never know. Harry could-”
“Oh, please. I know you had something to do with him asking me out for dinner. There is no way that Potter would do that without outside influence. We’ve barely had two conversations in the last six years that I’ve worked there.”
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to argue, but snapped it shut and smiled. “I might’ve suggested it … just give him a chance.” She let out a sigh of exasperation. “Okay, how about this. We make a deal. You stay one hour. If it doesn’t work, I won’t say anything else about your dating life.”
“One hour?” It was tempting.
“Yes, just one, but you have to act as you would on any other date.” She snapped her finger as if she had suddenly remembered something. “Oh! And don’t even think about cheating. No tricks of any kind.”
Play fair? Pansy quirked a brow. “And if I cheat, how will you know?”
“Oh, I’ll know,” she flashed a smirk that was identical to her husband’s. “Believe me, I’ll know ….”
ooo
“Pansy ‘Pug-faced’ Parkinson!” Ron dissolved into his sixteenth fit of laughter.
Harry groaned, removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was not what he’d had in mind when he’d black-listed Hermione, gone to Ron for help, and ignored the nagging voice in his head-which sounded oddly like Snape-that repeatedly called him an idiot. Maybe the voice had a point. Ron-the sound of him guffawing made Harry grimace-hadn’t been much help. It was hard to believe that he would ever be much help, anyway. After all, he hadn’t stopped laughing, snorting, and yelling ‘Pansy “Pug-faced” Parkinson’ since Harry had broken the news.
Ron slapped his knee and wiped his brow as if laughing like a hyena had tired him out. “I can’t believe this!”
Harry started to say something, but ended up shrugging it off. At least Ron was saying something new.
“Do you remember those hideously frilly robes that she wore to the Yule Ball?”
“Erm, yeah,” Harry lied.
The first real memory that he had of Pansy was when she had tried to hand him to Voldemort. It had taken Harry a long time-okay, years-and hearing her terrified testimony at her trial to finally let go of his anger
“She was a walking candy floss disaster!”
Harry said nothing, thinking it would be a best not to remind Ron of his own dress robe debacle. He always had a problem with not being able to take what he dished out, and Harry never did like the shade of puce that Ron’s face always turned when someone-anyone-brought up his Fourth Year fashion disaster.
“I’d be shocked if Pug-Face doesn’t show up wearing something just as hideous.”
Harry rubbed his temples in an attempt to alleviate his growing headache. “Ron. Insulting her isn’t helping.”
This was the time Ron him to step up, to be his best friend, and give him some bloody advice-advice that didn’t include him changing his name, covering his scar, and fleeing the country.
“Fine, fine.” Ron sobered up and shrugged. “Just cancel on her.”
Was that really the best he had?
Idiot.
Harry wished that the Snape-voice would just shut the hell up. He also wished that his best friend would come up with a better idea than “just cancel on her” too, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen.
“What kind of sense does that make? I’m the one who invited her to dinner.”
“Yeah, and who’s fault is that? Hermione’s. I don’t know why you even listened to her. She’s gone bloody mad ever since Malfoy decided to get her preggo.”
Decided? He distinctly remembered Hermione saying that it was her idea to start trying to have children, but didn’t correct Ron because it would only start an argument. Hermione had married evil incarnate as far as his Ron was concerned, but he didn’t dare tell her that to her face.
“Never mind that.” Harry checked his old wristwatch. “I have less than twenty-four hours before this dinner with Pansy Parkinson, and I need help.”
Ron stared at him blankly. “You’re serious about keeping this date?”
He shrugged. “It would be rude to-”
“Since when do you care about being rude to Pu-” Harry shot the redhead a fierce glare. “Parkinson,” Ron recovered quickly, “of all people? Just because she and Hermione have gotten chummy over the years doesn’t mean that you’re obligated to share a meal with her. And what are the chances that Hermione even knows about the date? You could just cancel and-”
“That’s just it, Hermione already knows,” Harry whined.
“You don’t know that.”
“In case you forgot, Hermione knows everything!” Harry put his glasses back on. “When you sent the hoard of strippers to Malfoy’s bachelor party because you knew Hermione would kill him, she knew and-”
Ron held his hand up to stop him mid-sentence. “Do not remind me about the bloody canaries.”
“Exactly! And if I back out, what she’ll do to me will be infinitely worse than those canaries!”
“Worse?” Ron asked faintly, paling just a bit.
“Yes!”
“So what are you going to do, mate?”
Oh buggering hell. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose again before he exclaimed, “That’s why I came to you in the first place!”
Idiot.
“You could’ve come and talked to me before listening to Hermione, Harry! I know a few witches that will suit your taste, if you know what I mean.”
Harry nearly cringed when Ron did that little elbow nudge thing and that low laugh. He always did that when inferring about things that were too crude to say. “Erm,” he stammered awkwardly. “Well, I-”
There was a reason. A good one. But it was one he couldn’t share with his best friend….
Ron was allergic to romantic commitment. Really. And it didn’t make sense, given the fact that he’d been raised in an amazing family. But sometimes, it didn’t matter how someone was raised. Sometimes they ended up taking a different path from the rest of their family. Girlfriends had come, girlfriend had gone, and none of them had made it past a few months. In fact, Ron had been through so many girlfriends that by the time Harry learned the name of one, he had already broken up with her and moved on. There was even a waiting list to date the famous Quidditch player, and it was full of witches-and a few wizards-who were desperate to change him for the better.
Change Ron? Not bloody likely.
Hermione had said it best. The best way to get rid of Ron was to ask him to stick around.
Harry could never ask Ron to find him a date, not when their priorities were so different.
“I just, well, I thought-”
Ron waved the still-stammering Harry off. “Never mind that. Let’s get on with this. We apparently don’t have a lot of time.” He wasn’t kidding. “So, what kind of date is this?”
Green eyes narrowed in confusion. There were types of dates? “Erm, well, I told her I would make her dinner.”
Ron sounded as if he were having a heart attack. “You did, what?! You set the bar too high for yourself. She’s going to want-no expect-all these things from you. And you’re going to have to do more and more until, wham!” Ron clapped his hands together to mimic the sound of lightning and disaster. “You’re going to be discussing moving in together after a week-oou, or buying her a private island for your first month anniversary!”
“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic-”
“No! I’m not! Harry, you just committed the ultimate man-sin!” Ron was adamant.
“It’s just dinner!”
“No! It’s commitment! You just dug your own grave, mate!”
“Unlike you, Ron, I’m not anti-commitment.” Outside of his short relationship with Cho during his Fifth Year in Hogwarts, he’d dated a grand total of three witches. Ginny, to everyone’s surprise, wasn’t the first. The funny thing about war was that it was completely unpredictable, and its aftermath, even more so.
Harry had been so sure that he and Ginny would find each other once it was all over. They would date and marry and have children, but it just didn’t happen that way. He’d spent the first three and a half months after the war gathering rouge Death Eaters. And when it was time for them to return to the newly rebuilt Hogwarts, he and Ron had decided to stay and help rebuild the Ministry.
Ron frowned. “I am not anti-”
“And now you’re in denial. Lovely.”
“It doesn’t matter! I have more experience in this area, Harry. You dated Luna for thirteen months, ‘nuff said.”
Ron loved to mention that at every opportunity, but the fact was that Luna was there at the point in Harry’s life when he just needed to be with someone who didn’t expect the world from him, someone who made him feel normal and comfortable. Luna had been just what he’d needed. It was months after the war, months after Ginny had decided that she wasn’t ready for anything serious until she finished Hogwarts, and months after everyone in the wizarding world had turned to him for everything. Luna had been there, stood by his side while he found his place and identity.
“You always bring that up, and I always tell you I don’t regret it.”
His best friend rolled his eyes then prodded, “And Ginny?”
“No, I don’t regret dating her, either.” He and Ginny had started dating two years after he and Luna had parted ways and lasted for another two years. And while things were good, Ginny was looking to settle down, and fast. The idea of settling down appealed to him, but he wasn’t ready for that at the age of twenty-three. And after months of fighting, he had finally decided that he wasn’t going to let her rush him to the alter. She got engaged to Dean Thomas nine months later.
“Yeah, right.”
Harry rolled his eyes. No one ever believed him when he said that he wasn’t angry, just like no one ever believed him when he said that he wasn’t holding a torch for her, either.
“Okay, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while now, Harry.”
This couldn’t be good.
“Mate,” Ron clapped his hand on his shoulder, “I know you’re one for all that … commitment stuff, but what you need to do is to stop looking for Miss. Right, and start looking for Miss. Right Now.”
“And how exactly is that going to help me with-?”
“Don’t you get what I’m saying? Since you can’t cancel this date with Pu-Parkinson, she could be your Miss. Right Now.”
Harry balked. “Ron!”
“Just hear me out! You’re completely clueless when it comes to witches-” When Harry opened his mouth to argue, his best friend cut him off. “Well, it’s true. You’ve dated two witches in ten years, and offering to cook on your first date with Pansy Parkinson, of all people, shows your inexperience. But, since I’m your best friend, I’m going to help you out. And judging from all the wizards that Pansy has been with, she would be perfect to help you out, too.”
He wasn’t following. “Help me with …?”
“Experience!” Ron exclaimed. “Since you obviously can’t even consider dating her seriously, she would be perfect to, I don’t know, date as practice until someone better comes along. Then you’ll have all the practice you need to know what you’re doing with the next witch. It’s perfectly logical.”
Harry scrunched his nose. “That sounds pretty-”
“Brilliant? I know.” Ron smiled, proud of himself.
He was going for crooked. “Uhh-”
“Just try. I’ll teach you everything I know about women, oh, and I’ll find one of mum’s casserole recipes. They’re killer.” Ron slapped his shoulder again. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Idiot.
Click here to read the next chapter.
Title: Recipe For Disaster (Part 2/3)
Author: inadaze22
Gift for: pokeystar
Pairing: Harry/Pansy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: some language
Word Count: 4211
Summary: It all started with two words.
A/N: I nearly screamed when I got this prompt, not sure if it was out of horror or excitement, but it was definitely an interesting one that made me do some thinking before I really got to writing. So, thanks, pokeystar for making me think. Out of the three parts of the prompt, the last one is the most ambiguous, but I think that actually works. I worked hard to stay true to a lot of your listed likes, and there may be a twinge of angst, but nothing serious or intense. I hope you like it. Thanks to F for being an awesome beta, thanks to K for holding my hand through the writing of this story, and R for being my cheerleader. All characters belong to JK. Rowling and all errors are my own.
Chapter Two: An Accident Waiting To Happen
Thursday evening
Pansy looked at her reflection in the mirror and held the robes against her body. She tilted her head to the side, imagining herself in them. They would do just nicely. However, her excitement at the find went cold when she looked at the price tag. While the robes were perfect, the price was not.
“Seventy-five Galleons? For dress robes?” she whispered in frustration.
Beautiful they may be, but inside her budget, they most certainly were not.
“Is this the point where I come in and say that those robes would look good on you?” Hermione asked from the chair next to the mirror. She lowered the book on motherhood that had been previously covering her face.
Why, exactly, had she brought Granger along? She was the worst person to shop with, especially now that she was pregnant. Pansy paused for a moment. Oh right, they were … somewhat friendly. Truth be told, Pansy liked her. She was bossy, nosy, and constantly tried to read her, but at least she cared enough to try. Granger was the closest thing to a friend she had, and Pansy had asked her to come almost on instinct.
But that was her secret.
“You just missed that moment, Granger.”
“Malfo-oh sod it,” she shook her head and dog-eared the page that she’d be reading. “How can I expect you to stop calling me Granger when my own husband doesn’t?” After dropping the book into her beaded bag, Hermione crossed her ankles and absently rested her hand on her baby bump that had grown just in the last few days.
“Some habits never die.” Pansy shrugged.
Hermione snorted. “Now, about those robes ….”
Pansy held them back to her body. “These?”
“Yes, those. Are you going to get them so we can finally go to Florean’s for some ice-cream to satisfy my insane craving?” she asked with a hopeful smile.
Pansy looked at the dress one last time before she put it back on the rack. “No.”
Her smile faded. “Wha-no! What was wrong with this one? It’s perfect!”
“The price isn’t,” she frowned. Granger opened her mouth, but was cut off with a crisp, “Don’t start.”
Money was a forbidden topic. Discussions about it, and Draco and Hermione’s attempt at give it to her, had always led to brutal arguments where they would go weeks without speaking. She didn’t need any charity, and the sooner they understood that, the better. But Granger was fiercely stubborn. Her lips were pursed, and she looked ready to say something. Pansy narrowed her eyes.
The staring contest was on.
However, to her utmost surprise, after only a minute Hermione looked away, pulled her book out, and went back to reading. Pansy didn’t bother to inwardly rejoice in her victory. There was no time.
She went on the hunt again.
“What about the yellow one?” Hermione suggested, pointing at the robes on the rack behind her.
Pansy frowned at the dress robes in question. It probably would look nice on her, if it wasn’t for the horrible colour. “Yellow makes me look like I died and forgot to lie down.”
Hermione’s laughter suddenly rang out in the mildly crowded store, and all eyes were on them. But that wasn’t too much of a surprise. People had been watching them since they’d walked into Madam Malkin’s over half an hour ago. When she calmed down, Hermione used her thumb to dab a tear from her eye. She smiled at Pansy, whose cheeks were flushed from chuckling at her own words. “How about pink robes? I remember you wore pink robes to the Yule Ball-”
“Because my mother made me!” she exclaimed. “I hate pink, but I hated that dress more. I looked like an over-aged fairy princess.” Hermione started laughing again, but Pansy continued, still hot over the memory of the hideous dress. “It was a fluffy catastrophe, and because they were taking pictures, I had to pretend that I actually liked that horrid thing. The first thing I did when I returned to my dorm was burn it.”
“Well, what colours do you look good in?” she asked once she finished laughing.
“Silver, black, green-”
Hermione cut her off, “Don’t even think about wearing House colours.”
Pansy frowned because she’d been considering it. “Why not?”
“We’re not at Hogwarts anymore. Try … mixing it up a bit. You said you look nice in black, what about adding another colour to it. Like a red-”
“So I can look like a checker board?”
“-or white?”
“Oh, so I can upgrade to looking like a chess board?”
“Now you’re just being difficult.”
Pansy ignored her and started to hunt again.
She was about to deem the shopping trip a failure when she saw it-the perfect dress robes. And it wasn’t long before Pansy was walking out of Madam Malkin’s as a satisfied customer with a relieved and smirking Hermione at her side. The dress, which fit her like a well-made leather glove, was still outside her price range, but not horribly so.
She would manage.
Sunset was underway as they made the walk to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, and people were watching them. Hermione had always done a good job of ignoring the whispers, and Pansy did an even better job pretending to ignore them. The media had always done a lot of speculating about Pansy’s friendship with Hermione, and on some level, it bothered her. Some said that she was just another lost cause Hermione had taken interest in. Others said that her “tyrannical husband” had forced her to be friendly with Pansy, his secret lover. That was actually the closest they had gotten to the truth, minus the secret lover bit. Merlin no. Draco had reintroduced them, albeit reluctantly, but it had been Hermione’s idea to bury the past.
Pansy had agreed because, well, she was in need of a friend.
Granger had already started her sundae when Pansy sat down with hers. She started to question why they were sitting outside, but stopped when she saw how stunning the hazy sky looked. They ate their sundaes, sat in silence, ignored the curious glances, and watched as dusk settled on the city. It was only then that the witch sitting opposite her decided to speak. “So where are you two having dinner?”
“Actually, Potter’s cooking.”
Hermione nearly choked on her ice-cream. “Harry’s cooking?” she asked incredulously.
Pansy narrowed her eyes. “Yes … is that a problem?”
“No.” She dipped her spoon back into her ice-cream and chuckled. “It’s just that … Harry can’t cook.”
“I didn’t think he could.” The way he stammered about while making plans had told her that something was up. She figured that the reason Potter had suggested cooking was either because he didn’t want to attract any attention or because he didn’t want to be seen in public with her. It was hard to determine the truth, so she tried not to think about-
Pansy caught two witches sitting a couple of tables down staring at them and shot them such fierce glares that they both looked away immediately, feigning shame. She then turned back to Hermione, whose shoulders were shaking with mirth. Leaning back in her chair, she asked, “What’s so bloody funny, Granger?”
“They’re always going to stare.”
“That doesn’t mean that I have to like it.” Pansy fussed. “Besides, it’s easy for you to say. They’re not staring because of you, but because you’re having ice cream with public enemy number one in the wizarding world.”
Hermione said nothing. “I never pegged you as the type that cared about the opinions of others.”
“I don’t,” she replied tightly.
“Could’ve fooled me.” She smirked slightly, but her tone became serious quick. “It’s okay to care, you know. No one likes to be hated.”
Pansy really hated how accurate Hermione’s observations were. Instead of voicing her annoyance or even the truth, she said nothing. They sat in silence until Granger started prodding-again. “So, are you excited about the date?”
That was a rather personal question, and Pansy didn’t know what to feel about it. She liked the dynamics of their somewhat-friendship, because while Hermione always asked probing questions, she never required that Pansy directly express her feelings. Her questions made her distinctly uncomfortable. “Potter nearly choked to death after I said yes.”
Hermione’s eyes were wide. “Choked?”
“Yes, choked,” she repeated, rolling her eyes at the memory. “It was … strange. I don’t think he expected me to say yes, and he was drinking water … ergo choking.”
Hermione shook her head. “That blockhead.”
“Look, it’s fine. I’m not expecting anything special. It’s just going to be another date.”
“I don’t remember you ever dating anyone before.”
It wasn’t that she hadn’t been in a relationship, because Pansy had-plenty of them-but she didn’t know that. She had never shared that particular part of her life with Hermione. “I’m a private person.”
“That’s an understatement,” she said with a smile and a shake of her bushy head. “It’s been four years since Draco reintroduced us, and I know next to nothing about you.”
Pansy waved her off flippantly. “It’s not like we’re friends, Granger.”
And all of a sudden, things were awkward.
Hermione took to staring in her ice-cream as if it was the key to finding out all the universe’s secrets, and all she could do was stare at the sky. Seconds passed, then minutes. Silence. Yes, too awkward for Pansy’s liking. She hated those moments where all she could do was wonder if she’d done or said something wrong, and this was one of them. So she said the first thing that came to mind. “I, well, there are days when I’m completely jealous of you.”
That did the trick. Hermione’s eyes met hers, then narrowed slightly. “Jealous of me?”
Buggering hell. Now she had to continue, and there was no time to think of a decent lie. “You-you just seem to have it all together. You’re married, you have a great career, and now you’re having a baby. Your life is perfect.”
Hermione laughed. “I can’t complain. But Draco and I, our lives aren’t as perfect as you may think. We have a mountain of obstacles in front of us, and they’re always going to be there.” Pansy could see the distress on her face when she spoke. “His parents hate me, my friends don’t exactly like him, and we still struggle with that. He,” she rubbed her stomach affectionately, “may change things, but he may not. I try not to worry about it.”
“Do you regret anything?” It was out of her mouth before she could snatch it back.
She smiled. “I took a chance, and things may not be perfect, but it’s paid off tenfold. What’s there to regret?”
Pansy said nothing.
“You know …” Granger adjusted in her chair. “It’s not bad to take a chance on something-or someone.”
It wasn’t about her taking the chance; it was all about if that someone wanted to take a chance on her.
Pansy frowned at the thought.
Hermione misunderstood the frown and shook her frizzy head lightly. “You could be happy, Pansy.”
“Like you?” she deadpanned.
“Like me.” Hermione smiled, again.
“Well, at least someone is.” Pansy crinkled her nose. No, she wasn’t supposed to say that. Not aloud, at least. She’d accepted that she wasn’t a happy person, but she wasn’t miserable either. If anything, she was just stuck. Yes, that was a good way to put it. She was stuck in her job and in her life, but she wasn’t going to stress about it, or even feel bad for herself. And she sure as hell didn’t want Granger to pity her, but it was too late. Pity practically radiated off her. Pansy sighed to herself before looking across the table. “I didn’t mean that. I’m not unhappy.”
“Then what are you?”
Merlin, the woman was so damn nosy. It flustered Pansy to no end, and she couldn’t have that. “I’m-I’m just okay. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there isn’t, but you have to want something more than just okay, don’t you? There has to be a part of you that wants something-someone-at the very least. You have to have a heart’s wish, something that you want more than anything.”
“Heart’s wish? What are we, ten again?” Pansy chided with a small smile.
Hermione rolled her eyes and ate another spoonful of ice-cream.
Pansy had no intention of divulging her inner-most feelings to Granger, almost-friend or not. That’s how people got hurt. But, Hermione had a point. There was something she wanted more than anything, something she secretly wished for, and something she would kill for just to have a taste. Pansy struggled to put it into actual words, but she wanted-wanted to be wanted, appreciated, and taken seriously. She wanted to be considered, not as a last resort, but as an actual choice. Her cheeks burned. “But I’m practical, too. It’s not likely to happen.”
“You never know. Harry could-”
“Oh, please. I know you had something to do with him asking me out for dinner. There is no way that Potter would do that without outside influence. We’ve barely had two conversations in the last six years that I’ve worked there.”
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to argue, but snapped it shut and smiled. “I might’ve suggested it … just give him a chance.” She let out a sigh of exasperation. “Okay, how about this. We make a deal. You stay one hour. If it doesn’t work, I won’t say anything else about your dating life.”
“One hour?” It was tempting.
“Yes, just one, but you have to act as you would on any other date.” She snapped her finger as if she had suddenly remembered something. “Oh! And don’t even think about cheating. No tricks of any kind.”
Play fair? Pansy quirked a brow. “And if I cheat, how will you know?”
“Oh, I’ll know,” she flashed a smirk that was identical to her husband’s. “Believe me, I’ll know ….”
ooo
“Pansy ‘Pug-faced’ Parkinson!” Ron dissolved into his sixteenth fit of laughter.
Harry groaned, removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was not what he’d had in mind when he’d black-listed Hermione, gone to Ron for help, and ignored the nagging voice in his head-which sounded oddly like Snape-that repeatedly called him an idiot. Maybe the voice had a point. Ron-the sound of him guffawing made Harry grimace-hadn’t been much help. It was hard to believe that he would ever be much help, anyway. After all, he hadn’t stopped laughing, snorting, and yelling ‘Pansy “Pug-faced” Parkinson’ since Harry had broken the news.
Ron slapped his knee and wiped his brow as if laughing like a hyena had tired him out. “I can’t believe this!”
Harry started to say something, but ended up shrugging it off. At least Ron was saying something new.
“Do you remember those hideously frilly robes that she wore to the Yule Ball?”
“Erm, yeah,” Harry lied.
The first real memory that he had of Pansy was when she had tried to hand him to Voldemort. It had taken Harry a long time-okay, years-and hearing her terrified testimony at her trial to finally let go of his anger
“She was a walking candy floss disaster!”
Harry said nothing, thinking it would be a best not to remind Ron of his own dress robe debacle. He always had a problem with not being able to take what he dished out, and Harry never did like the shade of puce that Ron’s face always turned when someone-anyone-brought up his Fourth Year fashion disaster.
“I’d be shocked if Pug-Face doesn’t show up wearing something just as hideous.”
Harry rubbed his temples in an attempt to alleviate his growing headache. “Ron. Insulting her isn’t helping.”
This was the time Ron him to step up, to be his best friend, and give him some bloody advice-advice that didn’t include him changing his name, covering his scar, and fleeing the country.
“Fine, fine.” Ron sobered up and shrugged. “Just cancel on her.”
Was that really the best he had?
Idiot.
Harry wished that the Snape-voice would just shut the hell up. He also wished that his best friend would come up with a better idea than “just cancel on her” too, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen.
“What kind of sense does that make? I’m the one who invited her to dinner.”
“Yeah, and who’s fault is that? Hermione’s. I don’t know why you even listened to her. She’s gone bloody mad ever since Malfoy decided to get her preggo.”
Decided? He distinctly remembered Hermione saying that it was her idea to start trying to have children, but didn’t correct Ron because it would only start an argument. Hermione had married evil incarnate as far as his Ron was concerned, but he didn’t dare tell her that to her face.
“Never mind that.” Harry checked his old wristwatch. “I have less than twenty-four hours before this dinner with Pansy Parkinson, and I need help.”
Ron stared at him blankly. “You’re serious about keeping this date?”
He shrugged. “It would be rude to-”
“Since when do you care about being rude to Pu-” Harry shot the redhead a fierce glare. “Parkinson,” Ron recovered quickly, “of all people? Just because she and Hermione have gotten chummy over the years doesn’t mean that you’re obligated to share a meal with her. And what are the chances that Hermione even knows about the date? You could just cancel and-”
“That’s just it, Hermione already knows,” Harry whined.
“You don’t know that.”
“In case you forgot, Hermione knows everything!” Harry put his glasses back on. “When you sent the hoard of strippers to Malfoy’s bachelor party because you knew Hermione would kill him, she knew and-”
Ron held his hand up to stop him mid-sentence. “Do not remind me about the bloody canaries.”
“Exactly! And if I back out, what she’ll do to me will be infinitely worse than those canaries!”
“Worse?” Ron asked faintly, paling just a bit.
“Yes!”
“So what are you going to do, mate?”
Oh buggering hell. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose again before he exclaimed, “That’s why I came to you in the first place!”
Idiot.
“You could’ve come and talked to me before listening to Hermione, Harry! I know a few witches that will suit your taste, if you know what I mean.”
Harry nearly cringed when Ron did that little elbow nudge thing and that low laugh. He always did that when inferring about things that were too crude to say. “Erm,” he stammered awkwardly. “Well, I-”
There was a reason. A good one. But it was one he couldn’t share with his best friend….
Ron was allergic to romantic commitment. Really. And it didn’t make sense, given the fact that he’d been raised in an amazing family. But sometimes, it didn’t matter how someone was raised. Sometimes they ended up taking a different path from the rest of their family. Girlfriends had come, girlfriend had gone, and none of them had made it past a few months. In fact, Ron had been through so many girlfriends that by the time Harry learned the name of one, he had already broken up with her and moved on. There was even a waiting list to date the famous Quidditch player, and it was full of witches-and a few wizards-who were desperate to change him for the better.
Change Ron? Not bloody likely.
Hermione had said it best. The best way to get rid of Ron was to ask him to stick around.
Harry could never ask Ron to find him a date, not when their priorities were so different.
“I just, well, I thought-”
Ron waved the still-stammering Harry off. “Never mind that. Let’s get on with this. We apparently don’t have a lot of time.” He wasn’t kidding. “So, what kind of date is this?”
Green eyes narrowed in confusion. There were types of dates? “Erm, well, I told her I would make her dinner.”
Ron sounded as if he were having a heart attack. “You did, what?! You set the bar too high for yourself. She’s going to want-no expect-all these things from you. And you’re going to have to do more and more until, wham!” Ron clapped his hands together to mimic the sound of lightning and disaster. “You’re going to be discussing moving in together after a week-oou, or buying her a private island for your first month anniversary!”
“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic-”
“No! I’m not! Harry, you just committed the ultimate man-sin!” Ron was adamant.
“It’s just dinner!”
“No! It’s commitment! You just dug your own grave, mate!”
“Unlike you, Ron, I’m not anti-commitment.” Outside of his short relationship with Cho during his Fifth Year in Hogwarts, he’d dated a grand total of three witches. Ginny, to everyone’s surprise, wasn’t the first. The funny thing about war was that it was completely unpredictable, and its aftermath, even more so.
Harry had been so sure that he and Ginny would find each other once it was all over. They would date and marry and have children, but it just didn’t happen that way. He’d spent the first three and a half months after the war gathering rouge Death Eaters. And when it was time for them to return to the newly rebuilt Hogwarts, he and Ron had decided to stay and help rebuild the Ministry.
Ron frowned. “I am not anti-”
“And now you’re in denial. Lovely.”
“It doesn’t matter! I have more experience in this area, Harry. You dated Luna for thirteen months, ‘nuff said.”
Ron loved to mention that at every opportunity, but the fact was that Luna was there at the point in Harry’s life when he just needed to be with someone who didn’t expect the world from him, someone who made him feel normal and comfortable. Luna had been just what he’d needed. It was months after the war, months after Ginny had decided that she wasn’t ready for anything serious until she finished Hogwarts, and months after everyone in the wizarding world had turned to him for everything. Luna had been there, stood by his side while he found his place and identity.
“You always bring that up, and I always tell you I don’t regret it.”
His best friend rolled his eyes then prodded, “And Ginny?”
“No, I don’t regret dating her, either.” He and Ginny had started dating two years after he and Luna had parted ways and lasted for another two years. And while things were good, Ginny was looking to settle down, and fast. The idea of settling down appealed to him, but he wasn’t ready for that at the age of twenty-three. And after months of fighting, he had finally decided that he wasn’t going to let her rush him to the alter. She got engaged to Dean Thomas nine months later.
“Yeah, right.”
Harry rolled his eyes. No one ever believed him when he said that he wasn’t angry, just like no one ever believed him when he said that he wasn’t holding a torch for her, either.
“Okay, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while now, Harry.”
This couldn’t be good.
“Mate,” Ron clapped his hand on his shoulder, “I know you’re one for all that … commitment stuff, but what you need to do is to stop looking for Miss. Right, and start looking for Miss. Right Now.”
“And how exactly is that going to help me with-?”
“Don’t you get what I’m saying? Since you can’t cancel this date with Pu-Parkinson, she could be your Miss. Right Now.”
Harry balked. “Ron!”
“Just hear me out! You’re completely clueless when it comes to witches-” When Harry opened his mouth to argue, his best friend cut him off. “Well, it’s true. You’ve dated two witches in ten years, and offering to cook on your first date with Pansy Parkinson, of all people, shows your inexperience. But, since I’m your best friend, I’m going to help you out. And judging from all the wizards that Pansy has been with, she would be perfect to help you out, too.”
He wasn’t following. “Help me with …?”
“Experience!” Ron exclaimed. “Since you obviously can’t even consider dating her seriously, she would be perfect to, I don’t know, date as practice until someone better comes along. Then you’ll have all the practice you need to know what you’re doing with the next witch. It’s perfectly logical.”
Harry scrunched his nose. “That sounds pretty-”
“Brilliant? I know.” Ron smiled, proud of himself.
He was going for crooked. “Uhh-”
“Just try. I’ll teach you everything I know about women, oh, and I’ll find one of mum’s casserole recipes. They’re killer.” Ron slapped his shoulder again. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Idiot.
Click here to read the next chapter.