#usermerc

Dudley would never know, but he did know this: this girl's silver eyes displayed the truth; hopefully her truth was purer than his mother's past. 

He at least hoped they were full of forgiveness if she knew about his old nature, if forgiveness was even what he deserved. Years had passed since Harry offered him his hand in forgiveness, but Dudley still didn't believe it. Every year when he would come around for the parties that Harry would invite him to, he wondered if it was all a prank. But as soon as he saw his cousin's relaxed smile, that's when he knew, the boy who lived had grown up, and so had he. He hoped every day that he proved that he was now a better man. 

He remembered his heart racing as he caught sight of her the year before. She was laughing an airy laugh and brushed her hand gently against Neville's shoulder. Her smile was whimsical; almost if she came from a dream. He had never seen a sight so pure, he wondered if he even deserved it to unravel her mystery. 

He had been standing alone at the party that night - still too awkward to interact with Harry's friends. He could still feel Hermione's distrusting glances from across the room, even if Ron would give him a reassuring smile. It was all just a reminder that maybe he still did not deserve the forgiveness he was given years before. 

He was drinking a glass of ale and watching the crowd. Harry's old classmates laughed as Ron cracked a joke, and others were around the snack table sharing memories from their days at Hogwarts. Dudley was willing to admit then that he was always jealous of Harry's experience with magic, much to his father's dismay. He credited his openness of his jealousy as to why he no longer spoke to his father. He was done with his poison toxicity; he hoped his mother would someday join him. 

His eyes had glanced away from her only for a moment that night, and when he turned his attention back to where she had previously stood, he was shocked to find that she was no longer there. He was startled moments later when he heard a delicate voice to his left.

"I wonder if mistletoe from the Muggle world is full of nargles as well, what do you think?"

He looked down and realized it was her. He had no idea what nargles were, and he could feel his face morphing into a puzzled look. He hoped she wouldn't take his look the wrong way. His throat was dry, so he took another sip of ale before he tried to respond, but she beat him to it.

"You're Harry's cousin, aren't you?" 

Dudley looked down guiltily and nodded. He didn't say much else; that's when he felt her grasp his arm gently. He watched as her head motioned up above them. That's when he realized that's where the mistletoe hung. It was not a random question about mistletoe, it was true curiosity. Her smile was innocent as she gazed up at him, he even interpreted as expectant. It was then that the moment became too much. All he remembered next was walking away without looking back, with her eyes still imprinted in the back of his.

He had never seen her again since that night. He never even caught her name, until now.

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He wished he had kissed her. He had thought about it for over a year since then. He even avoided Harry's New Years Eve party the year before out of shame. 

Why had he not just kissed the girl? But was that what she even wanted? He didn't even know her, yet.. she felt all too familiar. It was like he had met her before in a dream, or maybe, he really was just crazy.

This year, he still felt like he did not deserve Harry's forgiveness, but he felt more comfortable in Harry's crowd of friends. Most of them knew him at this point, and he even smiled when Ron cracked a joke. Rather than ale, he chose to drink champagne. He could feel his cheeks burning from intoxication; he had hit his perfect buzz.

She had arrived late; her long blonde curls were now cut to her shoulders, but her eyes were just the same. He had not forgotten them; he wasn't sure he ever could. They were the most striking eyes he had ever seen.

Dudley wasn't sure where he packed up the courage from, but he leaned into Ron as he took a swig from his stout, "Who is that girl?" he asked.

Ron followed his gaze, and he smiled, "That's Luna Lovegood. I'm surprised she didn't make herself known to you yet after all these years."

Oh, she had, Dudley thought, but he didn't say anything more. He just shrugged, "I had seen her around, we just have never really talked."

It wasn't a lie necessarily, she talked, and he didn't. He was about to ask Ron another question, but he was being swept away by Neville as a game of Muggle beer pong was about to begin. Ron motioned for him to join them, but he shook his head in response. He was too dazed by the girl with the silver eyes.

Deep in his thoughts, he didn't hear her approach him again. It was like de ja vu. 

"Still wondering about those nargles?"

He felt his cheeks heat up again, but not from the alcohol, and looked down in her direction. She had a playful smile on her lips, but she did not look as though she was teasing him. She seemed rather serious with her question. She was an anomaly. 

It must of been the champagne that gave him the courage to respond, so he asked, "What even is a nargle anyway?"

"Just a magical creature I am trying to prove exists. Many do not believe me."

"Why not?"

He wondered if he asked her too much, and just to double check, he looked above his head. No mistletoe this time; he felt disappointed even though the butterflies in his stomach had seemed to settle down.

He could see from the corner of his eyes that her eyes looked away dreamily as she answered him, "Because many people do not believe in things they cannot see. What about you, Dudley Dursley? Do you believe things exist that you cannot see?"

She looked back at him now, and her silver eyes were full of curiosity. She was studying him, as he was studying her. He wondered if this was a double-sided question, but Dudley knew he was probably over-thinking as he always seemed to do these days. 

"I used to not," he answered her truthfully, "But after being absorbed into Harry's world, I think I do."

She tilted her head slightly to right, and her hand moved up behind his ear. He flinched away slightly from her touch, but she did not seem offended. It was then he saw that she had grabbed a sparkle away from his ear, "It must have been from Ron's party hat," she explained to him, "When you were asking him about me."

Stunned, Dudley felt his eyes widened, "How did you-?"

"I thought you said you believed in things you couldn't see? Sometimes people just know when they are being talked about."

Baffled, he wanted to have more of an explanation, but he didn't push her for it. Instead, she continued on with other random conversation. He listened to her soft voice intently, and she made him laugh throughout. Her smile made him feel at ease, and those eyes, those eyes made him start to love mysteries when before he used to despise them. Dudley wanted an answer for everything, he had gotten that trait from his father to his own detriment. 

It was moments before the strike of midnight. Luna turned toward him and asked, "Do you now know my name?"

He knew she meant if he knew her, or if he wanted to know who she truly was as the clock stroke midnight into the new year. He wasn't sure how he knew that is what she meant, but it was something he could feel. It was something you couldn't see, only know. She wanted to know if he was drawn to the mystery of what they could be. 

He missed her. He hoped she was safe. He felt guilty, for everything, but that was nothing new. Guilt was Theon's constant companion and probably would be until he died.

Sansa, he wrote one night when he was out at sea, I miss you.

But that didn't seem to suffice, so he threw the parchment into the fire and watched it burn. He had many nights like this as he sailed to get Yara.

Once he got his sister back, his feelings became clear. He realized why it was so hard for him to write to her. He couldn't believe he had missed the reason why before, but it was something he pushed himself away from, even when it came to his own blood. Love.

"You love her," Yara told him, "You need to go."

So he did, and he didn't look back. He made things right by his sister. She was much like him; she only needed one chance for full redemption. Sometimes, you only had one chance and had to make it count.

As he rode into Winterfell, the snow was falling heavily. As it hit his skin, he thought of Ramsey. How he made his blood stain the snow; how he turned something Theon once loved into a war zone. Shivers ran up his spine, and he could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat. He closed his eyes as his horse stopped at the gates. He tried to breathe.

"Why are you here?" A voice drawled.

He didn't look the man in the eyes; he didn't even recognize his voice. In the past, Theon would have made his presence known. It would have been a huge deal, and he would have watched as Sansa rolled her eyes in the background like she used to do as a young girl. He couldn't do that now, even if he wanted to. He was a different man, if even a man at all.

"I'm Theon Greyjoy, I'm here to see Lady Sansa."

He expected more questions to be asked, but the man bowed as he opened the gates of Winterfell for Theon.

As he got off his horse and brushed off his cloak, he looked around at what was his home. The traumas inflicted on him by the Bolton's were still fresh, but nothing would take away his childhood. He smiled to himself as he remembered chasing Arya up and down the stairs, he smiled as he remembered laughing with Robb, he smiled as he remembered Sansa practicing her skills to become a lady. He smiled because of Sansa. He just hoped she would have him.

As he entered the hall, he saw her. She was standing next to The Queen; she displayed the kind of beauty he had always dreamed about wanting before, but she was nothing compared to Sansa. Her skin resembled porcelain, but her hair was like fire. She was fragile and unbreakable at the same time. He had no idea how she exuded so much elegance and power. She had grown up; she was far from the little girl he remembered.

As soon as she caught his eye, he watched as tears welled up in her own. He looked away and back towards the Queen. His words with her were short about his sister, just like he wished they would be, but she asked him a question that made a lump build in his throat.

"But why aren't you with her?" The Queen asked.

Theon took a deep breath and looked Sansa in the eye again, acting as though the Queen no longer existed, "I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa, if you'll have me."

He could feel the Queen's eyes on them as Sansa rushed forward. His arms were around her and his shivering finally went away. He gripped her tighter and let her hair enclose around him. This was what Winterfell was to him, Sansa's arms around him. For the first time in years, even though he had been there enduring Ramsey's torture, he was finally home.

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Hours had passed since they had reunited. She still had private business to discuss with Arya after the whole group discussed their plans. Battle was to commence tomorrow, and Theon had so much he wanted to say her, but he wasn't sure he was going to get the chance.

He sat alone as he sipped his wine from his cup. In the past, he would have taken this night to get so drunk that he wouldn't be able to remember the next day once it was over, but he didn't want that this time. He wanted to have a clear head, in case he was able to speak to her before all peace was lost.

She came out into the snowy night from one of the lower level chambers. No one had seen her, and for that, he was grateful. If they had, they would have asked her for a word. Her eyes were only on him as she made her way to his table.

As she sat down, he watched as snow hit her bright red hair. If he had the confidence he used to have, he would have leaned forward and brushed it away. But he couldn't be like that with Sansa. She wasn't just any other girl, especially not the kind of girl he did that to in the past.

"I was not sure you would come back," Sansa confessed to him. She watched as he took another sip of his wine. Her voice shook as she spoke; he wondered if she was nervous or if it was because of the cold.

"Of course I came back," he told her honestly, "I owe you everything. I never stopped thinking about you as soon as I left you. I still regret it to this-"

But Sansa stopped him from finishing his statement. She leaned forward and gently put her gloved finger against his lips. Theon felt like he was on fire, but not the kind of fire Ramsay made him endure. It was the kind that ignited his soul.

Her eyes softened as he gently grabbed her hand away from his lips. He didn't dare let her go yet.

"You needed to save your sister. You have always tried to do what is right Theon."

"But-"

"We all make mistakes as we learn," she told him, "But I have always known who you truly are. Robb, he-he would forgive you. He does forgive you, if he can see you where he is now."

Theon blinked and finally let go of her hand. He swore she looked disappointed, so he grabbed it again softly. He would take an excuse he could to hold her. He watched as her cheeks turned pink. Lady Sansa was not the type to get embarrassed. This oddly gave him hope.

"Sansa," he started, "If I survive this battle-"

"You will," she said fiercely, "You have to."

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Theon looked Bran in the eye as they were the only two left. The Night King was waiting for his next move. He thought of Sansa and how he didn't get to tell her how he felt, but he hoped she knew.

"You're a good man, Theon," Bran told him.

Was he a good man? What made a good man? Was redemption real? Theon would never be sure, but he felt at peace in that moment. If Sansa could forgive him, maybe redemption did exist. All that mattered now was that he was home. He was where he was supposed to be, fighting for the person he loved most. For his family.

He closed his eyes one last time and thought of her smile. The one that only showed up once in awhile after all they had endured. It was always in the moments he didn't expect. He thought of the way she ignited his soul hours before by just one simple touch. He let himself charge on that ignition. When he opened his eyes and ran toward the Night King, he said one last thing to the universe. He hoped Sansa would hear him.

"I love you," he whispered.

And then it was over.

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Sansa's POV

It was over, and he was gone. For the first time in years, Sansa had hope that he could survive. It was stupid, really. They had lost so many others, and many were better fighters than Theon. It was only a matter of time before he would fall, especially during a battle like this.

But the realism of the situation did not take over, and the tears would not stop flowing from Sansa's eyes. As they prepared all the bodies to burn, she wept to herself. She could feel Jon's eyes on her as she draped her body over Theon's. She closed her eyes tightly as she kissed his forehead for the first and last time. If only she had told him earlier how she felt, would it have made a difference in his fate? The realist in Sansa said, probably not, but the child in her said, yes. She wanted to be the innocent child she was again so badly.

More tears fell as she placed the direwolf pin on Theon's chest. He would always be a Stark, even if not by blood. But he was not her brother; he never could be. He was something more. She supposed he always had been ever since she was a young girl. There was a reason she teased him so relentlessly. When she truly loved someone, that's what she did. She dropped the acts she was trained to perform.

But just like the little girl she was, her dreams were taken away from her. Theon would never know that she loved him, but something deep inside her told her he loved her, too. Maybe that thought was the only thing that would keep her going now. The thought of an almost lover; the dream that could never be fully attained.

Sansa finally lifted herself away from him and looked down at his scarred face one last time. As she walked away from him, she regretted that she ran away from love like she always had before out of fear. If only she used her voice.

He wallowed in his own self-pity for weeks in various pubs across Britain; it was easy to escape when you could just apparate anywhere in the country. He understood Ginny's reasoning; she needed time to herself. He was all she had really ever known in a mature relationship. She loved him, but that wasn't enough. Sometimes people had to find their own way, and Harry respected that. Especially after everything they had lost in the years past.

So as he took another shot of Firewhiskey in the Hog's Head, he eavesdropped on other people's conversations to ignore his own internal dialogue. There was a girl sitting across the bar. She never looked in his direction, and Harry did not mind that at all. It was new for him. She kept downing shots and raising her hand for more. Aberforth gave her more with no objections. Harry watched as Zacharias Smith and another wizard he was unfamiliar with approached the girl as they waked into the pub. Her bleach blonde ponytail whipped around as she turned to look at them directly.

"So where's your lover boy?" Zacharias taunted, "I figured he would be here."

"Not now, Smith," the blonde replied, "I would prefer to drink without hearing your voice."

"And why is that?" The wizard Harry didn't know ask, "Because he finally dumped your ass for some new fine ass?"

The blonde stood up from her seat to defend herself, but she didn't draw her wand. Harry was not sure what came over him, or why he suddenly felt the need to defend this stranger, but he made his way over to them. Without looking the girl in the eye, he kissed her cheek and wrapped his arm around her waist. He half expected her to push him off, but she didn't. It was probably because of what he said next.

"Hey babe," Harry said casually, "Sorry it took me so long. I got you another shot."

He offered his full shot glass to the girl, and she tentatively took it. She still avoided Harry's eyes, but Harry watched as her red lips touched the rim of the glass.

Zacharias Smith started laughing. That's all Harry could focus on. He felt his eyes turn into slits. Harry had never liked Smith, and this was just adding to his reasons not to. He knew what it felt like to be taunted like this poor girl and-

But his thought process was interrupted once Smith finally decided to speak.

"Harry Potter is dating Pansy Parkinson? I cannot believe this shit!"

Harry was about to pull away from the blonde in surprise to look at her, but she kept him pinned to her side.

She turned her head to finally look him in the eye, and he recognized her now instantly. He would remember those blue green eyes anywhere. They were the same eyes that stared him down in the Great Hall for years. They were the ones that tried to turn him over to Voldemort with no remorse. Chills ran up Harry's spine. She had just dyed her hair. He could not believe this.

Harry wanted to take it back and protest, but Pansy spoke before he could.

"There's a thing called forgiveness, Smith," Pansy replied smoothly, "Maybe you should try it out sometime."

Harry watched as the stranger rolled his eyes and Smith huffed.

"Whatever," Zacharias retorted, "But I cannot wait to see the articles Rita Skeeter comes up with about this. They have been following your sex life for weeks, Potter."

Harry knew he should have replied, but he didn't know what to say. So he kept quiet, and he just glared at Zacharias quietly.

Pansy moved her hand down his arm and grabbed his hand. Harry had the urge to push her away, but he needed to keep up their ruse. He may have hated Pansy Parkinson, but he himself did not want to look like an idiot in front of Zacharias Smith of all people.

"Let's go, hun," Pansy said, "We don't need to deal with these assholes."

Harry nodded in fake agreement, and he followed her out of the pub. He could hear Zacharias laughing as they walked away, and he could feel Aberforth Dumbledore's eyes trailing after them.

Once they made it outside, Harry dropped Pansy's hand and backed away from her.

"Oh, what is it, Potter? You don't want to date me now?" Pansy asked. She had a devilish grin spread across her face as she went into her bag and grabbed a Muggle cigarette to light it up.

As she took a puff, Harry glared at her. He hadn't stopped glaring ever since he saw Zacharias Smith.

"I-I thought you were someone else," Harry told her, "I definitely wouldn't have done that if I knew it was you-"

Pansy rolled her eyes and started walking down Hogsmeade. It was after midnight and the streets were dead. Harry decided to follow her.

"Saint Potter," Pansy drawled before she took another puff of her cigarette, "Who would have thought you were my savior? Just so you know, I could have defended myself. People have been mocking me about Malfoy for weeks. Just because he cheated on me with that whore Astoria Greengrass. I'm a strong and independent woman, and I definitely don't need the Chosen One acting all high and mighty in my honor."

"Then why did you keep up the ruse?" Harry challenged her, "You could have said I was full of shit and got a good laugh with Smith and his lackey."

Pansy stopped in the middle of the street and turned to look at him. She was about his height, Harry realized, and smoke was billowing in the air between them. She dropped her cigarette to the ground and put it out with her boot.

"Because I think we can help each other."

Harry perked up his brow and didn't say anything, he let her continue.

"I see the shit Skeeter has been writing in the Daily Prophet about your break-up with Weasley. I get what it is like to have someone over-analyze your lack-of sex life. For once, I finally understand what is bad about being in the spotlight. So why don't we fool them all? Let's keep up this ruse, give Skeeter a run for her money, and come back later with an article of our own saying we fooled them all. It can be a wonderful story about how a Slytherin and Gryffindor become partners in crime to take down evil. Wouldn't that be beautiful?"

Harry could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"As appealing as that sounds, I will have to pass," Harry told her, "Working in close proximity with you is enough to make me sick."

"You kissed my cheek just fine," Pansy commented, "And I saw the way your pupils dilated when you looked into my eyes, Potter. I'm not stupid."

Harry felt himself blush.

"I-I am not attracted to you," Harry replied defensively, "And I don't like to lie to people."

Pansy ignored the last part of his statement, "I never said it meant you were attracted to me. There are many reasons pupils dilate. I was more hinting at the fact that you could even look me in the eye. You haven't for years, not since you-"

She stopped talking, and Harry knew why. She was thinking of the same thing; the night he took down Voldemort. Harry swallowed.

"If I take you up on this offer," Harry explained, "I don't want it to last for long. Two weeks, tops."

"It needs to be at least a month to make it convincing," Pansy argued, "You are definitely not the type for flings, and the public knows that."

"Why would you-"

"Ginny Weasley is obviously the only person you have slept with."

"That's not-" Harry tried to stammer, but Pansy gave him a deadpan stare.

"Draco might have been my one true love, but we had many break-ups. I have definitely slept with my fair share of men and women."

Harry was intrigued by her women comment, but he let it slide.

"So what do you say, Potter?" She asked him one last time, "Are you in?"

Harry knew he was crazy to do this, but if it meant getting Rita Skeeter off his back, how could he resist? He had nothing else better to do anyway.

"I'm in."

Harry was woken up the next morning by someone banging on his door. They did not stop after one knock either, they kept doing it until he yelled that he was getting up. It was the worst way Harry could have started his day.

As Harry rolled out of bed, he mumbled to himself angrily as he stubbed his toe on the way to his door. When he opened it, Pansy Parkinson was standing there.

Her newly dyed blonde hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing a black low-cut summer dress. Harry tried to look anywhere but her chest. She didn't ask politely to come in, she just pushed past him and Harry rolled his eyes. He quickly looked outside his front door to see if anyone had seen them, but it looked like no one had. He shut the door and turned around to see Pansy sitting on his couch.

"Good morning to you, too," Harry greeted her sarcastically, "This couldn't wait until the afternoon?"

"It's noon, Potter," Pansy told him, "I tried sending you multiple owls. When you didn't respond, I took matters into my own hands."

Harry looked over at the window sill above his kitchen sink. There were multiple letters piled there waiting for his reply. They all displayed an elegant scrawl. She hadn't been lying.

"What do you want? Can't I at least get a day to think our whole agenda over?" He asked her.

She pulled the Prophet out of her bag and held it out to him. He grabbed it from her and opened it to the front page.

It was a picture of Pansy and Harry holding hands as they walked out of the Hog's Head with the caption, "The Boy Who Lived with the Girl Who Wanted Him Dead?"

Harry rolled his eyes and handed it back to her, "They could have come up with a more creative title at least-"

"That's what I said."

Harry snorted and Pansy laughed. After they finished, it was awkward to realize they had agreed on something for the first time in their lives and even had a similar sense of humor. Harry tried to ignore it.

"So what now?" Harry asked her, "I'm not necessarily the strategic type that takes advantage of situations-"

"That's obvious. Granger was always the brains behind everything."

Harry scowled, "I also contributed-"

"-with brute force."

Harry didn't reply to that, he just stared her down. The intensity of her look made him uncomfortable, but she didn't look away. She was clearly studying him, and Harry hated being a case study. He had been one his whole life.

"I figured we could plan out our public appearances," Pansy finally started, "Let's go out tonight. I made us a reservation."

"Already?" He asked her, "How did you already-"

"Some people get up before noon, Potter. Grown adults, that is."

Harry glared at her again, but she ignored him.

"Just be ready at six tonight. I'll meet you here. Dress nice. I'll give you more of the plan later as I think of it. You clearly aren't someone to brainstorm with."

Harry was about to protest, but she stood up and apparated out of his living room on the spot.

What had he gotten himself into?

It was 5:55 pm and Harry was a nervous wreck. He wasn't sure why he was nervous. This wasn't a real date. He convinced himself it was because it was going to be all over the news again in the morning. But Harry was used to being on the front page, it was nothing new.

Harry put on his suit jacket as he heard the light knock on his door. He took a deep breath as he went to open it.

Pansy Parkinson was in front of him wearing a tight red velvet dress. She was wearing the same lipstick from the night before, and her blonde hair was down in long waves. Harry had never seen her with long hair before. She had always had it cut short during their days at Hogwarts. He must of have been staring at her for too long, because she pushed past him into his flat and said, "Close your mouth, Potter. You're drooling."

Shaken up, he touched his fingers to his lips to see if she was being serious. Of course she hadn't been.

As he turned around, she was staring at him again.

"You clean up well," she commented, "I'm surprised."

"You do too," Harry blurted, "I mean- for a bitch."

Pansy snorted, "How original of you."

He felt his neck heat up and awkwardly crossed his arms, "So are we going to go now or not?"

"Yes," she told him, "But you're clearly a mess and horrible at this kind of thing, so just follow my lead, alright? I have no idea how you saved my ass last night on the fly at the bar-"

"So you admit I saved your ass?"

She rolled her eyes as she linked her arm through his, "I'm not admitting anything, Potter."

As she led him out of his flat to apparate to the restaurant, Harry grinned.

Once they made it to the restaurant, Harry could hear their whispers. It was apparent that the whole wizarding world now knew about his relationship with Pansy Parkinson. He grinned to himself as he imagined their shock when they came out with the truth.

Pansy laced her fingers through his as they approached the hostess.

"Reservation for Parkinson," Pansy told the girl. The girl looked at Harry like she was starstruck, so Pansy snapped in her face.

"Yes, I know my boyfriend is beautiful and has the most distracting eyes in the world," Pansy commented, "But we'd like our table."

The girl glared at Pansy as she grabbed their menus. Then she smiled at Harry and said, "Right this way."

Pansy chose a table in the back that was still visible to everyone else in the restaurant. They would just be unable to hear their conversation. She was smart. It would leave people wondering. Harry thanked the hostess as they sat down, and he watched as Pansy crossed her legs.

"You'd think you have never seen a girl before, Potter," Pansy teased as she looked down at her menu, "You can't keep your eyes off me."

Stumbling on his words, Harry replied, "I-I'm just playing my part well."

He watched Pansy's lips turn into a grin as she continued to look down at the menu, but she didn't say anything.

After the waiter came and took their order, Pansy whispered to Harry, "Take my hand."

"What?" He asked her.

She rolled her eye and did it herself. She grabbed his hand so it was on top of the table for everyone to see.

"Now talk to me about something, anything," she directed him, "But use hushed tones, it needs to look sensual."

Pansy leaned forward in her seat so their heads were closer together. Harry gulped as he got a closer look into her eyes.

"Why did you dye your hair?" He decided to ask.

"Why do you think?" She asked him, "So people might not recognize me when I go out. The Draco scandal was just-"

"Overwhelming?"

Pansy nodded, "But I'm over it now. It has been a few weeks."

"I get it," Harry told her, "When Ginny just up and left-"

"Why did she leave?"

Harry wasn't sure why he was telling Pansy Parkinson these things, but he realized he needed to talk about it, so he continued, "She needed to experience more of the world. All she had ever known from a serious relationship was me. I mean, she dated other guys before but-"

"I was that girl to Draco a few years ago," Pansy admitted, "That's what I think made him cheat on me with Greengrass."

"Astoria always seemed decent-"

"She's a slut."

Harry didn't say anything more, but looked down at their interlocked hands. Her nails were painted red like her dress and lips. He wasn't sure what else to say, so he just took a sip of his wine. He felt Pansy's eyes on him.

"What is it?" He asked her, "Why are you always staring?"

"I'm trying to figure you out," she told him, "You perplex me."

"How so?"

"I thought I always had you figured out in school, but now-"

"Now what?"

She hesitated, but she was about to respond as the waiter came up with their food. She let go of Harry's hand, and suddenly, he missed her touch. But he tried to bury that thought down, too.

Their dinner date went as planned, and they walked down Diagon Alley hand in hand as the sun went down. They didn't say anything for awhile, but they heard the whispers of other wizards around them. Their plan was going to work, Harry could see that now.

Once they turned the corner and were alone, Harry finally decided to ask Pansy, "Did you really mean what you said to the hostess? That I'm beautiful and have the most distracting eyes in the world?"

He was teasing her, and he hoped she caught that in his tone. He watched her roll her eyes, but she didn't look at him.

"There is always some truth to lies," she responded vaguely, "I had to keep our ruse up."

Harry wasn't one hundred percent sure what she meant, but he just nodded. They walked in silence again until they reached his flat. When they reached his front door, she turned her body so she was facing him. She was so tall that they were eye-level again, and all Harry could think about was how her eyes made him think of the sea by Bill and Fleur's home. How had he not noticed all these things about her before?

"Goodnight Potter," she told him, "I'll see you tomorrow. Or I can give you the day off?"

He realized she was asking him if he wanted to see her again so soon. He realized he did. He smiled at her but looked down at the ground. He wasn't ready for that kind of vulnerability just yet. "Yeah," he replied, "I'll see you tomorrow."

He glanced back up and watched as she hesitated, but she slowly leaned forward and kissed his cheek, just like he had done to her the night before. Her cheeks were rosy once she pulled away from him, and when she stepped back to apparate home, he swore he saw a faint smile spread across her face.