20 Prompts Challenge
by ThatRomantic
He hated events like this. Ever since the fall of Voldemort six years previously Harry Potter had been invited to Merlin only knew how many of these things. Balls, feasts, socials – you name it, he was on the guest list. He was sick and tired of them but he never had the heart to say no. Now he knew that tonight the whole thing had gone one step too far. He was standing on a veranda in the middle of a cold December night, looking over the Greengrass estate. The reasoning behind the Astoria’s engagement celebrations, that the youngest Greengrass was to wed Draco Malfoy, was truly beyond him. Still, there he was, in his dress robes that he found profoundly uncomfortable, holding a glass of what seemed to be very expensive sparkling Goblin wine, and alone. The golden light of the ballroom helped him to see across the vast lands and gardens that would have been more impressive to him in the light of a rare sunny summer’s day.
He wondered distantly if she would be there, then chuckled to himself. Of course she would, she was Malfoy’s best, and only, female friend. She would be laughing with all of the Slytherins and their parents, smiling serenely to some young and exciting new boy she had on her arm that night. He sighed and watched his breath form a cloud in front of him. He looked down and saw himself reflected vaguely in the rippling water of a feature that he was leaning on. His hair was still misbehaving as it always had, and his face had not changed much since his teens but for the stubble that littered his jaw line. He wore the same style of his glasses, and his physique had not changed much from his teen years, but for a healthy broadening of his frame that defined him as more man than boy.
Through the French doors behind him he could hear the buzz of noise permeating from beyond the glass. He half listened until he heard the click of the door opening, and the staccato of heels on the concrete behind him. He looked up from his rippling reflection to the gardens again, and took a quick breath in – tensing his shoulders. It was her. He could smell her perfume; the summery, fruity one she insisted on wearing no matter the season.
“Potter,” she said, her voice not even hiding the smirk he knew was on her face. Despite himself, he smiled a little.
“Hello, Pansy.”
“Why did you come?” she asked, moving to stand next to him, looking out at the grounds too. “You hate this kind of thing, and you don’t even like Draco or Astoria.”
“I was hoping I would see an old friend,” he replied looking up at her. Her short, black hair was shiny and parted to the side with a fringe that swept over her forehead, skimming the right of her heavily lined bright hazel eyes. Her skin was flawless, her cheeks powdered rosy, and her lips bright ruby. The dress she wore skimmed her toes and was a similar, seductive shade of red as her lips. Her upturned nose gave her profile an eternal sense of aristocracy and her pale shoulders were glowing in the yellow from the ballroom and the white from the moon that was peeking from behind the clouds.
“Oh, Potter, stop trying to flatter me,” she said in a bored tone, despite the pinkness rising in her cheeks. “You see me once a week for coffee, it’s not like you can miss me.”
Harry could not help but disagree. He would always remember the moment their friendship had broken through her marble shell. He had initiated the meetings in Sixth Year, hoping to get some information on Draco, by Owling her anonymously and asking her to meet him in the Astronomy Tower once a week asking for her help. He knew she would not have been able to resist the idea of having Harry Potter grovelling at her feet for answers. Over time a friendship grew, and they began to talk, despite having their preconceived ideas of each other. He learned a lot about Pansy in the time they were together. She confided that she was sharing with Harry the secrets of Slytherin in the hope that he could save them all. She and some of her friends were scared of the outcome of the war, knowing the destruction to come. After Dumbledore’s death, they both knew that the other would be at their usual meeting point and they sat in silence for a while, looking at the inky sky – scarred by the reflection of the moon and the clouds – until she broke the silence.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you? Like Draco and Snape did.” He had looked at her then and seen tears flowing silently down her face. He had fallen in love with her then. In her most broken, vulnerable moment. His positive response had broken her further still and she had hated him more for the following eleven months than she had before. It had taken another eight to get to the point where they were seeing each other for their weekly coffee. She had forgiven him immensely for living after he had testified for Draco during his trial.
Neither of them had dated in that time, despite offers and temptation on both sides. It was like a silent agreement between them that if they were to have a date, it would be together. Despite this, neither had the courage to ask the question.
Until tonight.
It was a night so similar to the night he had first realised he wanted more than friendship from her; with their shoulders brushing, chaos behind them, and a black sky with moonlit clouds. He could not resist. Tentatively he moved his hand and folded it around her small pale one. She looked up then, her bright eyes wary and alert.
“I can,” he said simply. “Miss you, I mean,” he said when she looked puzzled. Feeling emboldened by those two words he took her other hand, and pulled her closer. She raised her eyebrow at him questioningly. “What do you say to dinner as well as coffee next week? On Saturday, maybe?”
“Is that your idea of asking me out on a date, Potter? You’re sloppy at it, but I’ll say yes for you to make up for it,” she smirked. Harry smiled, and dropped one of her hands before lacing their fingers together, and walked back into the ballroom with her.
Harry hated these events, but this one seemed alright.