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Pansy Parkinson did not wear boots. She also did not wear overalls, and her manicured fingers would shrivel and fall off if she were to ever put them into a pair of workman's gloves. She was born and bred for no-less-than four-inch heels and skirts with designer labels. She was made for silk blouses and classy establishments.
Yet here she was, standing next to Theodore Nott in a stinky red barn, wearing a pair of heavy brown boots, dirty overalls, and dragon-hide work gloves. If she broke out in hives in the next minute, she would not be at all surprised.
“Are you almost done?” she asked. Theo had a pitchfork in his calloused hands — no gloves for him — and he was moving a pile of manure-filled hay from one corner of the horse stall to the other. The purpose? She hadn’t the faintest idea. She might (apparently) be willing to waver in her clothing standards, but she would be dead and in the ground before she shoveled shit.
“This would go faster if you helped, you know?” Theo griped good-naturedly, heaving another shovel-full.
“But the view is so great from over here,” Pansy simpered, pouting at him playfully.
Theo rolled his eyes and braced himself to shovel another load.
“You like to watch me pitch manure? Oh, how the standards have fallen,” Theo teased.
“Well, I could do without the smell,” she admitted, “but your shoulders do look fantastic.”
Pansy leaned against the outside of the stall, putting her chin on her folded hands as she continued to watch him. His shoulders were definitely fantastic, the muscles in his back shifting with each lift of the pitchfork. She took a peek at his arse as well, but his ego would get too big for his britches if she mentioned anything about that.
It was nearing the end of the day, and all the bouncing, energetic rugrats that frequented Draco’s farm had been picked up by their doting family members or their less-than-doting-but-still-caring Ministry-appointed guardians. The work that Draco was doing on his farm and with his charity was something that Pansy greatly admired. Draco’s less-than-charitable beginning in charity work had morphed into a true calling for him. He’d even found the thing that was lacking in the wizarding non-profit sphere, and he’d stepped in to make sure that children were taken care — that they had something just for them. There were still steps to be taken in order for children to have as much support as other charity demographics — like shelters for the homeless, funds for working single mothers, and more — but it was a stellar beginning.
To see the joy, satisfaction and fulfillment that the farm brought to her old friend’s face when he’d realized he was actually helping was something Pansy would forever be grateful for.
And yes, fine, the kids got to her as well. When their little faces lit up because of something she did or had a hand in, she got this pleasant little warm spot in the center of her chest — even though, other than her monetary support, her contributions to everything else were relatively minor. Pansy’s only duty was to stable the horses, but only two of the horses, as it took a lot of convincing to wheedle her way into that particular section of Theo’s horse-loving heart. She’d completed her task an age ago, hence why she was ogling Theo.
“Pansy…? Earth to Pansy…?” Theo needled, and the hand he waved in front of her face clued her in to the fact he’d likely been calling her name for a quick minute now. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Merlin, yes, I thought you’d never ask,” she sighed. Before she could back away from the stall, Theo kissed her quickly and tapped her on the nose — even though he knew she hated it.
Pansy wrinkled her nose. “You smell like manure.”
“Yes, but you like it,” Theo teased as he hung the pitchfork on a hook and started walking towards the large barn door.
Pansy wasn’t lying at all when she said, “Not even a little bit.”
Theo laughed his deep belly laugh as he preceded Pansy through the doors. He cut himself off pretty quickly, though, and there was only one person that could be on the farm that Theo would be hesitant to laugh in front of: Harry freakin’ Potter.
And sure enough, when Pansy came to stand next to Theo, Harry and Draco were talking a few feet away by the chicken coop. There was a blue-haired toddler running between the two men, wrapping his little hands around both Harry’s and Draco’s legs as he weaved a figure eight around them.
“Draco’s wearing his sex smile,” Pansy pointed out blandly as she took in the two adults.
“It will always disturb me that you know what his ‘sex smile’ looks like,” Theo grumbled.
It wasn’t a full minute before the two men noticed that they were standing there, and Draco immediately straightened out of his lean towards the other man while Potter picked up the toddler. The two didn’t touch at all as they said their goodbyes, just waved their hands awkwardly with adorable, pre-teen-like blushes on their cheeks. Potter walked to the property line to Disapparate as Draco walked towards them.
“Is he ever gonna tell us that they’re dating?” Theo asked her out of the corner of his mouth.
“Probably not till we torture it out of him,” Pansy mumbled back as Draco came up to them.
It was rare that Pansy ate her words, but lo-and-behold, Draco said, “I’m going drinking with Potter’s friends tonight, and you’re coming with me, because Harry and I are dating.”
.:..:.
Pansy stood in front of her bathroom mirror in just her tight black skirt and emerald-green bra. Theo was still in her shower, and she held an eyebrow pen in her hand. Doing her make-up in a hot steamy bathroom was basically her version of hell, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that. And fine, if a steamy bathroom was the price she had to pay for the silhouette of Theo through the shower curtain…well, she was a happy gal.
Even his off-key singing made her smile and pause in her make-up process just to marvel in the fact that this was her life now.
There was a time in her life — even as close as a year ago — when she never would’ve thought she’d have this. A year ago, she was scared just to leave the house. At first, she’d been determined to go about her business with her head held high, but the public had other ideas. At first, it was the name calling: “Death Eater bitch” and “useless Slytherin scum” … among other, even less savory, monikers. When people realized she wasn’t about to fight back — she was done lashing out at people in anger, it’d gotten her into the whole situation in the first place — they began to push her around a little.
After a particularly rough incident that resulted in a broken window at Flourish and Blotts, a black eye for the brutish man who’d hexed her, and a broken arm for her, Pansy had drawn her public outings to a close. It was a good thing she’d been living with Draco then, and she’d had the whole of Malfoy Manor in which to putz around and distract herself.
Draco had definitely had it worse with the press — the negative public perception of her was like a walk in the park compared to what he went through. That didn’t mean she didn’t cringe every time her name was in the paper, though, especially because more than one source had been known to call her a Death Eater when she wasn’t and never had been.
She had no mark on her arm, and neither one of her parents had one either, for that matter. Sure, she’d done her fair share of shitty stuff in school — the Inquisitorial Squad and the bullying of Muggle-borns, the Weasleys, and pretty much everyone who wasn’t a Slytherin. Not to mention the stuff she did under the Carrows’ reign of terror that still gave her nightmares. But most of that was done out of survival, and she’d been driven by a hard-wired self-preservation instinct that still reared its head to this day.
But none of that stuff made her a criminal. None of it.
Theo had reminded her of that, and he’d taken it upon himself to keep reminding her. (She didn’t know what she’d do if Theo wasn’t there to calm her racing heart when the nightmares shook her awake in the middle of the night.) It said a lot about her that one of her mantras was, “you could’ve been worse; take a breath, and be less bad tomorrow.”
Mantra aside, she had forgiven herself for the positions she’d placed herself in over the years. She’d never forgive the Prophet, though, for what they’d put her through and the unfair way they treated her. And the nasty people who criminalized her just for walking down Diagon Alley and being born into the Parkinson family? They could rot for all she cared.
There were, however, a few people still out there that she needed to apologize to for mistakes she’d made, and that was one reason she was nervous about tonight. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were all on her list of apologies to make, and frankly, they were the only three on that list she gave two shits about. Now that Draco had finally admitted to dating Potter, it seemed more important than ever that she find the right words.
Hopefully, the proverbial ‘Golden Trio’ could forgive her, and they could form a friendship of sorts — at the very least, for Draco’s sake, they could become acquaintances that got along. In Pansy’s opinion, out of the three of them, it was most likely that she would become friends with Granger. Her and Theo would probably really hit it off — the both of them were beyond studious, and from what she remembered about Granger, both were also snooty to all hell. Pansy loved these things about Theo, so it stood to reason she could find something about Granger to love as well.
Weasley, on the other hand…it was probably a lost cause. There was too much about him that was easy for her to pick at, and that’s without even thinking about the stuff she’d never again make fun of him for — his family, the blood-traitor business, or the not-really-a-Gryffindor thing. Weasley had proven beyond a doubt that he was a testament to his house. Besides, she’d mostly told him he didn’t belong in Gryffindor because it got a nice rise out of him, not because she’d really believed (or cared) one way or another.
Ron was a funny guy, though, and she could always appreciate humor — could always use a friend that was at least as funny as her.
As for Potter, if he treated Draco right, he was in her good graces for life.
The water shut off behind her, and Pansy shook herself back to the present. By the time Theo was stepping up behind her in his boxers and undershirt — his dark hair still damp from the shower — Pansy was applying her final coat of mascara.
“You look beautiful,” he complimented as he placed a chaste kiss on her bare shoulder, “but you hate this bra.”
“I do not,” Pansy replied, indignant. “It’s very pretty and very Slytherin-esque, and it cost me £200 at that fancy French Muggle store. I love this bra.”
He arched a brow at her before he turned to go back to the bedroom. “Well, okay then, love. Don’t come crying to me at midnight to complain about the underwire digging into your sides or that the straps are hurting your shoulders.”
“How do you know what an underwire is?” she called to him.
“Because,” he replied, the soft rustle of him putting on his slacks reaching her ears from the bedroom, “you complain about the underwire every time you wear that bra.”
Pansy chose not to reply, and the only reason she wasn’t grumbling to herself about his know-it-all tendencies was because she had to apply her lipstick. Capping the red tube and setting it aside to put in her purse, Pansy grabbed her bra from under both cups and adjusted things, while also pointedly ignoring how the lace was already scratching at her back.
“I love this bra,” she muttered to herself.
Fifteen minutes later, Pansy had put on a silky green tank top and fastened her feet into a strappy pair of gold heels. Her billowy shirt was neatly tucked into her skirt, and she was quite pleased with her look. Theo was dressed in all black — despite her efforts to add any form of color to his wardrobe — but she wasn’t complaining. Outside of work, he wore all black for a reason: he looked great in it.
As they stepped outside her apartment and she locked things up, Theo grabbed her hand. He Apparated them to the alley next to the Muggle pub they frequented with Draco. Entering the pub, still hand in hand, Pansy caught sight of Draco’s white-blond hair through the crowd of people, and she tugged Theo along.
Draco was sitting next to Potter, and it seemed that Weasley and Granger had beaten Pansy and Theo there. It was a large corner booth, and Weasley and Granger were coupled off in the middle of it, Draco and Potter in the same position to their right. Granger’s hair was as curly and frizzy as ever, but her dark skin was glowing in the low lighting of the pub, and she carried a confidence in her that turned her otherwise ordinary features into something stunning. Weasley was still pale, freckled, and awkward, but the arm he had around Granger’s shoulders seemed absent-minded and caring.
Pansy took a beat before they crossed into the foursome’s sightline, and she inhaled deeply to calm herself. She shook out her shoulders in an attempt to relieve the tension there. Theo’s hand moved to the small of her back, its subtle weight reassuring, and Pansy took one final second to adjust her bra strap — something Theo wisely remained silent about — before resuming her walk towards the group and stepping up to the table.
“Oh, thank Merlin,” Draco mumbled as he jumped up to greet them. “Late much, Parkinson?”
“I’ll have you know it was Theo who held us up,” Pansy said haughtily as she allowed Draco to kiss her on the cheek. While Theo and Draco slapped each other on the back in a men-don’t-hug hug, she took her seat, sliding into the booth next to Weasley — though she didn't greet him yet. It was Potter she zeroed in on as Theo departed to the bar to order their drinks.
“Theo and I were wondering when you two were gonna come clean,” she said to him. “We’ve been watching you blush and flirt for weeks now.”
Potter blushed then, right on cue, as Draco retook his seat next to him.
“Er—” he began, rubbing the back of his head and ducking his eyes for a moment.
“And let me say,” she interrupted, “I’m sorry I tried to hand you over to You-Know-Who—”
“Pansy!” Draco hissed.
“Shut it, Draco.” Pansy glared. She needed to do this. “I shouldn’t have suggested it, but I was scared. Believe it or not, I didn’t actually want to sacrifice you. I never supported You-Know-Who, and neither did my parents, so I knew if there was a battle, I’d likely be done for. It was cowardly, and I apologize.”
Potter seemed genuinely surprised by her little speech, and true to his Gryffindor nature, he didn’t quite seem to know how to respond.
“I — ah, well, I appreciate that,” he said, shifting on the seat. “To tell you the truth, that part of the night is not even worth mentioning in the grand scheme of things — a lot of shit went down that night.”
“Well then, I take back my apology,” she quipped as Theo returned. He carried a tumbler of Lagavulin on the rocks for him and a dry martini with two olives for her. She took a tiny sip as she turned to Granger.
“And Granger, I’m sorry I called you names and was all-around horrible to you while at school. I don’t have an excuse.”
“Oh.” Granger tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Thank you. I forgive you. I’m sorry I called you a pug-nosed tramp.”
Pansy arched an eyebrow. “You never called me that.”
“I did, actually.” Granger laughed. “Multiple times on numerous occasions.”
“Points for creativity. I think I’ll have to steal that.”
Theo’s hand was on her thigh now, and he gave it a squeeze in support as she turned to Weasley to give her final apology.
“Weasley, I’m sorry I belittled you and your family and made you feel less than — that wasn’t right. Your family’s a braver lot than I ever gave you all credit for.” Pansy took a steadying breath and made sure to look him dead in the eye for the next bit. “And I heard about your brother. If it means anything at all, I’m deeply sorry for your loss; I can’t fathom it.”
Weasley nodded and cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.
“And I’m sorry for calling you a pale, speckled git...even though you are a pale, speckled git.”
Weasley tipped his head back and let out a bark of laughter.
“You’re all right, Parkinson, you know that?”
“Oh, I’m fantastic, ” Pansy replied, taking another sip of her martini to hide her relief. “I’m happy you finally took notice.”
The group fell into silence when the waitress showed up with a tray of chips and a round of drinks for everyone but her and Theo. Granger pulled the chips towards her and popped one in her mouth before leveling a look at Pansy and Theo.
“So, how long have you two known about these dorks?” Granger jerked a thumb in Potter and Draco’s direction.
“Oh, Merlin. Weeks , Granger…weeks,” Theo groaned.
Pansy snorted. “Draco took one look at him across the chicken coop and was done for.”
“Did not!” Draco protested, though his blush belied his denial.
“Did too!” she replied childishly but with a smile. “Then you spent over a month pretending that we didn’t know you two were banging.”
“Oh, my ears,” Weasley groaned.
“Plus there was that broken bench you refused to let Theo fix…”
“Parkinson, there are some things a man doesn’t need to know about his best friend.” Weasley — or should he be Ron now? — took a large gulp of his beer as he shook his head.
“Pot-kettle much?” Harry quirked an eyebrow, and though he too was blushing at all the teasing, he was obviously pleased everyone was getting along.
Ron laughed good-naturedly at the dig before he shoved her shoulder in a friendly ‘hey-get-this’ way. She stared down at where he’d hit her and then looked back up at him while he proceeded to do his own teasing of Harry and Draco. Talk about never thinking she could’ve had this.
.:..:.
“This is going to sound controversial, but I think that went well,” Theo remarked three hours later after they’d said their goodbyes.
“Well? You think that went well?” Draco asked, his voice a little shrill. “Weasley called me ‘ferret’ every chance he got, and yet Pansy has apparently decided he’s gonna be her new best friend. And Granger” — Draco laughed without humor — “she didn’t even wanna look at me!”
“It could’ve been worse,” Pansy reasoned as she ran a finger under her bra strap. Screw the £200, she was pitching the thing as soon as she got home.
“How in the world could it have been worse?” Draco placed his head in his hands and groaned.
“Potter could’ve broken up with you?” Pansy shrugged.
“Don’t even say that. You’ll jinx everything.”
Pansy sighed, shaking her head at her actual best friend and his flair for the over-dramatic. She walked over and sat next to him on the wooden crate where he’d taken up residence, bumping his shoulder with her own. “So…” she drawled, “When can we hang out with them again?”
They all three laughed when Draco blushed and mumbled, “This weekend.”