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"I'll get some poison in your drink," he whispered in her ear as he stood up with a honeyed tone, smiling from ear to ear down at his companion. Why did he think it was a good idea to take her at the wedding reception?
Oh, of course, out of pettiness.
"It's called Bumbo, you peasant," Parkinson practically spat, her perfectly manicured nails knocking on the table. "Besides, you'll not get laid in the next century if you continue on, Potter," she threatened, her imitated charming attitude literally screamed how very fake it truly was.
Now again, how did he end up with Parkinson of all people to make an appearance at Ginny's wedding to Viktor motherfucking Krum? He may needed to fault the Weasley twins as the two shared the Greengrass sisters' affection... the older of the girls may have made a suggestion about Parkinson so he may have taken it.
He asked for yet another round of firewhiskey and the thing Pansy sipped idly in every ten minutes – just like an acromantula did from its preys' juices. Really, the similarity was breathtaking, even though his partner had dolled up decently for this outing.
Getting their drinks, he looked her over, the elegant Cleopatra cut of her dark, raven-like hair, her wild red – nearly orange – lipstick, and the white fur coat framing around her otherwise petite figure... yes, she was entirely like Cruella de Vil, minus the cigarette. And the urge to murder innocent Dalmatian puppies – but hey, you could never know with a deranged witch like Parkinson.
"What are you looking at?" she sneered, and mindfully shifted the thick fur so that it covered from the curve of her neck to the black skirt underneath – even though it was the middle of the night, her actions were borderline ridiculous, given it was summer and they were in Bulgary. "I didn't dress up for you Potter, don't even dare dreaming about it! Just... just in case, if one of Witch Weekly's reporters makes us headline, you and your miserable face, the ex left three months ago, and me, the shining gem on your fucking weak arm. Seriously Potter," and for that, she leaned in closer with a sneer, her long nails sinking in his biceps as she checked the muscles with a frown on her face. It seemed to be stuck there. "You should do some work-out. Now, I understand why little Weasley ditched you."
Harry rolled his eyes, the emeralds nearly falling out of their sockets with it.
"I should have just paid for a fake girlfriend," he mumbled, his fingers running along the edges of his glass, mesmerized by the sloshing of the amber liquid. It was still better than looking at Parkinson. "At least she wouldn't be rude," his pointed look, however, did nothing to stop Pansy and her annoying chatting. "I'll kill Greengrass."
Not to his surprise, but of course she had a comeback for that, "Yes, yes, you're obviously famous of your brilliant ideas, aren't you, Chief Auror, hmm? Instead of putting up an advertisement, you asked a romantic idiot to get you a fake fiancée in three hours! Congratulations, Potter and cheers to our impending union," and with that she clinked her glass of beige drink – which name he still had not memorized – to his, and downed it in one go.
Harry copied without a second thought. At least they had something in common. Both of them were interested in getting wasted tonight. And the best part? It was entirely free – only Viktor's vault would be empty by the end of the night, and their heads, most probably.
Three more drinks later, he felt lighter – without the shitty feeling of knowing he'd done a mistake, and, yes, the alcohol tended to make things easier. So much easier – especially when it involved Parkinson.
After a while, Pansy whipped out a flask from her handbag, practically pouring the entire thing in her glass. When seeing his perplexed staring, she scowled and gave him the last few drops, barely enough to savour the obviously vintage alcohol. His slathering look gave away everything, and the wrinkles sank deeper in Pansy's skin, "What? I'm too lazy to stand up. And I didn't know I would be your fiancée until like two in the afternoon," he knotted his brows in question, not understanding the change of topic, "I needed something to handle the trauma."
He downed what little he got in his glass without a word.
"So you're going to be drunk, yes?" Pansy tried with chatting airily, but it was quite a dead end anyway as both would have been anywhere but in this wedding reception, "I think I'll join in."
Harry sighed, "Parkinson you quite litre—terally an alcoholic. Been drinking sin—since we met. It's a miralc— racle that you hadn't fainted."
She had the gall to grin while waving down an elegantly dressed house elf to get some more champagne. It wasn't good per se, but it must had been decent enough to get even more drunk on it. She took down four glasses.
"And you really fault me for that?" she asked in a tone that suggested that even she didn't believe her own words. She slipped one to Harry, across their table, and put the other three in front of herself. "The world was cruel to me, I was an outcast in the last six years, I can't even get a normal piece of clothing in Britain so all I left with is Paris and occasionally New York or Milan and they don't even serve me in the Leaky and can you imagine my pain when I found out Drakey was in love with another chick?"
To be honest, her over-exaggerating way of acting was quite funny, even though the meaning behind the words wasn't. Though really, she was babbling on and on about her miserable life to Harry? The orphan of the wizarding world, the Chosen One, the one who had yearly adventures from slipping out of Voldemort's hands? The one who died at least twice?
Her acting would have been believable if, well, Harry hadn't been the one who had needed to endure it. Pansy Parkinson was a fraud and everyone knew that.
So instead, Harry echoed with a cocked up brow, "Drakey?"
To that Pansy rolled her eyes, and pointed to the dance floor with one of her blood red claws, "You know him as Malfoy, she knows him as oh my god Draco, go harder and faster, you beast," she imitated poorly with a grimace, "but I'll always know him as Drakey, or arsehole, depends on the situation."
The Chief Auror joined in with the grimacing, watching the awkwardly dancing couple with squinting, crossed eyes, "No, Hermione would never," he stated with a voice so deceiving that made Pansy's chest swell with pride.
To his eternal surprise, she giggled. Like a girl, softly and nicely, not like a hyena, like he would have expected from her. She didn't let any of her pristine teeth show, with pulling an elegant hand in front of her mouth, her midnight eyes filled with mirth for the first time during their fake engagement. Harry noted it as success.
"I don't care what you think Potter, but remember, please, remember well and clear, swear on your fucking life that you never go nor let anyone near their office after six. Just don't. Or otherwise… yeah, you would end up like me," Pansy muttered, turning away from the awkward couple. It seemed Hermione had already stepped on Draco's toes at least five times in her nervousness – or as Harry had estimated. "They had been together since April and it's their first very public outing."
Harry looked up, his vision getting blurry from the sudden move, "You mean Malfoy hadn't been darg—dragged here for the same reason as you?"
Pansy was engrossed with playing the fur on the end of her coat, so she answered absently, a half-hearted edge carefully hidden in her hoarse voice, "No, he hadn't been dragged here to be paraded around in Weasley's face, even if his head is worthy of slicing by now. I mean, he's like a ripe tomato, looking at them with those blaming baby eyes," That point it was more of the alcohol talking than Parkinson. "So, back to our favourite star-crossed lovers!" and to that, she clapped her hands together with enthusiasm, "They are far over the jealousy stage, disgustingly in love, if you haven't noticed in their I wanna' fuck you against every surface in the room glances they constantly, and I mean, constantly give each other in every fucking second, even right now, and even Narcissa and Lucius gave their blessings to them, meaning Granger is chosen. She won't get away easily, and Draco had already received his great-great-great-great-grandmother's ring. I just want to be a bridesmaid, or more like the maid of honour, that role would fit me a lot more better…," she said and flipped her hair back like a diva.
"Wait," was the first word Harry could utter, "Wai— wait a minute, Parik—kinson! How many greats were there?" he asked, lifting up his hand to count it properly.
"Eleven," Pansy answered, bottoming up one more glass. She frowned – she hated sweet delight champagnes. She was a prosecco fan so she tossed the glass to the closest kitschy perennial just out of spite. It was too dark for anyone to see, anyway. "But I just said four. Eleven would've been too long," she whined.
Harry nodded along in understanding, his lips puckered as he was deep in thought, and for a few minutes, deeply in silence. Then, the moment just ripped itself apart as the words escaped Harry's duck-lips, "Wait! So you are not in love with Mafl— the git?"
Pansy laughed – loudly and boisterously, attracting the eyes of the other witches and wizards who had the worst places along them. They were the furthest away from the newly-weds, so her abrupt eruption was really not a problem, beside being embarrassing. But Harry didn't care about that right now – he was entranced by the way she freely laughed, her features not shadowed by the frown she always wore on her face, her body bent down as guffawed and knocked over the remaining two glasses of her champagne.
It was just decent, so it didn't really matter.
"Oh my god Potter," she heaved out, "No, not I'm not an idiot, I'm not in love with Drakey! Fuck, I'm just pissed because he didn't tell me anything until I caught them during action! Gosh, this one was a good joke," she struggled with straightening up, biting in her lower lip, lest she would start again with her show. She awkwardly cleared her throat, but Harry was entranced with how the red lipstick stuck to her teeth, and the way she kept smiling under her nose.
She looked elegant and for a passing moment, Harry wanted to lean in and kiss her madly.
But when the thought was born, he ripped it apart the very same second. He, clearly, started losing his wits.
Pansy threw the heavy, Cruella de Vil fur down on her cheap, metal chair that was everything but comfortable to sit on, and with swinging hips, she took her way towards the bar, "I'll get you some water, Potter. Thank you for your idiocy it really is amusing!" she called back and started flirting with the barista, who she deemed fit enough to grace him with her presence.
Harry looked after her, dazed as his eyes seemed to be stuck to her backside. Even if she was the biggest fraud of the wizarding world, she was a sexy one at least.
The meal had started two hours after Harry got sobered up from three glasses of water and five scones. He still couldn't believe that her fake fiancée could do anything kind – but he had the proof first-handed, she did have the stuff delivered to their table.
Harry was glad that he gained back all his senses, even though he half-wished he didn't. Even if he was definitely not in love with Ginny Weasley – well, by know, Krum –, it did hurt to see her move on so fast.
So he did what any sensible person would at their ex-girlfriend of three months' wedding reception: he meekly trudged to the table with the food to snitch some fries and chicken or fish, and damn, did the candy apples look good! Of course he needed some on his plate!
Maybe, he shouldn't have.
"Ginny!" he gasped, and he was tempted to rub his eyes under his circular glasses. He hadn't seen the oh-so-happy bride for hours and then, here was she, with her enormous white dress, looking utterly ridiculous with trainers and veil so kitschy on, that he couldn't look – of course, that must have been Molly's doing. Of course she would have needed something in exchange after her only daughter dared and said no to the traditions of getting married in the Burrow.
"Harry!" she smiled brightly and her red freckles moved with her facial muscles. Suddenly, he didn't find those spots so adorable anymore. "It's good to see you," she said and fixed her outrageous veil.
He caught Pansy's sneering face above Ginny's shoulder as she looked at the bride, form up and down, and then all the way back, and repeating it over a few times. He needed to bite in the inside of his cheek to not let the smile widen in his face, lest the bride would misunderstand.
"I'm glad we met," the lie slipped out of his lips far too easily for his liking as he finally reached the candy apple, turning away from Ginny. He stepped away from her, but she, oblivious to his intentions, immediately followed.
"I'm glad too, though I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you wouldn't come," as she was, she just happened to go for the very same stick and their hands awkwardly bumped to each other. The contact was not welcomed, or for Harry at least.
Harry pulled his away, the blush already covering his cheeks. Ginny smiled up at him with those overly familiar, innocent caramel eyes, "I'm sorry."
"Not a problem," he muttered awkwardly. "Now I need to— uhm…"
"Oh Baby, thank you for finding the apples, oh look, they must be so yummy!"
And just like that, an ever so confusing Pansy Parkinson threw herself in the middle of the situation out of the blue, most probably saving the day with that. Her fingers ran up on Harry's arm to his shoulder and she leaned at him for support. She reached over the place in between the two former lovers to snatch herself a candy apple. At the widening of Ginny's eyes, it must have looked convincing, even if they felt it was nowhere near that.
She gave him a loud, sloppy kiss on the cheek and the Chief Auror couldn't help himself, he was crimson from head to toe. He awkwardly pushed back his glasses on his nose and murmured an absent, "You're welcome, babe."
Pansy grinned as if Santa Clause decided to come by in a minute, delivering her thousands of pricy gifts.
Ginny, quickly recovering from her shock, started the usual chit-chat, which was the undeniable proof of faked politeness, "Do you enjoy the party, Parkinson? I didn't expect to see you here, either," the red head confessed, her smile now seemed tight and everything but genuine.
Pansy wore the same expression, her voice airy and effortless as she rambled, "Oh of course, Ginny, pardon, can I call you Ginny or would you prefer Mrs. Krum from now on? Anyway, I feel amazing!" she said with fake enthusiasm, "In fact, I could compare this feeling to when you throw off your bra after a very tiring day, I'm sure familiar with that or… better yet, it's like when you have an orgasm!" she snapped with her finger as if that was the greatest thing that ever popped up in her head, "Or wait! It's like when you get to experience both. And as you know," she snaked an arm around Harry's hips, bumping it to her waist, her eyebrows lifting up suggestively, "He is amazing in performing both. Simultaneously."
Ginny tried to hold up the charade as she laughed, it sounded forced, bitter and wounded, and really frosty compared to her usual, heart-warming giggle, "I didn't even know you two were a couple! I just thought…"
"Oh come on, do you really think we couldn't hide it from the reporters? They are really easy to escape from," Pansy said, and ever so subtly, she pulled her left hand in front of her smirking lips, showing off with the ring that – Harry was sure – wasn't there a few hours ago. The other, golden, clinking bracelets were now gone, with all the other jewelleries and heirlooms she wore before.
Now, this ring was equally or a bit more striking as those gadgets put all together. It was enormous, with a big crystal in the front, surrounded by little ones, the four corners with the Hogwart's house colours, and the smaller jewels in between those ran along the spectrum of colours to change from red to yellow to green and then to blue only to be back at the beginning. It was amazing and he hadn't an idea where she got it from in the matter of minutes.
Ginny's caramel eyes widened an she put both hands in front of her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears as she struggled to squeeze out, "I'm so happy for you two!" she said, even thought she clearly wasn't.
And then, just like that, she took a sharp turn and left the two of them there, staring back at her retreating veil. The pathetic sniff the bride let out was not silent enough for them to not hear it.
Pansy snickered at that and got an enormous bite out of the apple, munching on it with vigour and Harry started wondering if Snow White would be more fitting character for her than Cruella de Vil… even though she had definitely stomped on Ginny's good mood, shadowing the day that was supposed to be her happiest. That was surely more of a move of a Disney villain than a goodie-shoe, but still. She looked happy and innocent and beautiful.
Well, clearly, he should stop with thinking for this night.
"Where did you get the ring from?" he asked before he popped a spiced chip in his mouth right after they got back to their table to blend in with the background. No one was near them whom they knew, so there was no danger of getting their cover blown.
Pansy snorted and pulled down the enormous ring from her hand, "I nicked it from Drakey. I was talking with him while Granger was dancing with the every so mushy groom. He was pissed and on the border of throttling down the gorilla. He didn't notice I took it away, but I'm sure he will when he wants to propose the next week. Until then, this will be in my good care," she said and pocketed it away, but just after wrapping a tissue around it.
"You're terrifying," Harry said and he put down the chip in his astonishment.
"Well, thank you. You know it's a compliment, right?"she beamed up at him with her radiant midnight eyes.
"Nooo…?"
Pansy answered after biting one more bigger chunk out of her apple, "Yes it is. Or at least for me. Compared to what people usually say about me, it's definitely hit the bottom of the compliment category."
Harry, forgetting the place he was in as he concentrated with everything he had at Pansy, started eating the fried chicken with his hands, "What are they saying about you?"
Pansy rolled her midnight eyes that resembled now polished marbles and answered, "You know, me being bitchy, empty-headed, mean, a traitor and a slut. So, just the usual," she shrugged carelessly, "But I've been through worse. I've been listening to all those since Hogwarts, I had time to get used to it."
"Right," Harry said and looked down on his plate. It was easier than to see her wounded and crushed, because she could say anything, but she was far away from unaffected.
To his surprise, it was Pansy who initiated a conversation again, after a few awkward minutes, "You know, I expected that you would at least start shouting my perfect hair off. I thought you are still in love with her, and what I said….," she confessed and waved down a house elf to get her some bumbo and a firewhiskey for Harry. It seemed they were a way too sober for this conversation.
Harry snorted, "I'm not," he looked up, their eyes locking, "and I never was. It was more of… and obligation to Mrs. Weasley. Everyone just… pushed us together, the same way they did with Hermione and Ron. It was expected, and the way how it should be, you know, like it was written out somewhere…. And I don't like it when they do that, it reminds me…."
"Of the prophesy," Pansy sharply cut his rambling of and Harry was silenced, amazed. It was only Hermione who understood, or at least listened to this reasons and oddly enough, it gave him satisfaction that Parkinson was another member of their eccentric, little club. "I get it."
"What are we doing in here? Still," Pansy demanded and started playing with fur on her coat. It was around midnight, the new-weds should soon get rid away from the party to go to their booked honeymoon and already, there was nothing to do. The party got so utterly flat that even Drakey and his Golden Girl ditched it for a few rounds of loud sex.
And Narcissa thought she would have a quiet night for once.
"It wouldn't be right to leave just now," Harry said, just as bored as Pansy. They spent the last few hours with talking, with alcohol and criticising other guests – a game that the Slytherins loved unconditionally – but there wasn't much they could speak about without stepping over their boundaries.
Pansy watched as the water sloshing in her glass, "We should do something."
"Food?" Harry offered half-heartedly, not having better idea.
"I'm not a motherfucking Weasley, Potter," she seethed and crossed her legs, thinking why anyone thought that lacy tablecloth was a good idea. Molly Weasley must have had some serious issues with modern fashion; that was for sure. She should gift her some of her finished magazines. "Or we could dance. At least, I would get the front page in Witch Weekly," Pansy predicted.
"No," Harry stated, "Definitely not. I don't want to kill anyone. I'm a menace."
"Interesting," Pansy flipped her hair back elegantly and with her eyes narrowed to slits, she easily humoured him, "I seem to recall something of wanting to murder my sweet Daphne," she sang and risked a smile when Harry snorted in disbelief, exasperated by her little games. "You know I always get what I want, don't you?"
The glance she shot at his way was nothing if not suggestive as she fluttered her eyelashes seductively at him. Harry gulped.
"Are you sure?" he cracked it out, not sure if he read between the lines in the right way. With Pansy Parkinson, you could never be sure enough. This game they started playing was a new kind of dangerous that could end in many different ways. But looking at her expression, she was already prepared for the most likely – and she was not against it, not the least.
"Absolutely," The word rolled of her lips melodically and Harry found himself in the dance floor not even a minute after that.
He had a firm clutch around Pansy's thin waist, pulling her closer and trying to enjoy their swinging, even though he was really clumsy, unable to lead her properly and tampered three times on her foot already. He smiled down at her sheepishly, "Sorry."
Pansy rolled her eyes, "You have a lot to learn, Potter, but you're not as lame as you think you are. It would just require some, no, actually a lot of practice. Just be patient with yourself," she advised with a careless shrug as if this back-handed compliment would not mean something. It was a rare occasion and Harry picked up on it.
"Thank you," he murmured against her ear, enjoying the touch of her several, cold earrings meeting with his lips. He sighed and felt her shiver. "So do you have any ideas for the night?" he asked boldly and couldn't stop the contented smirk when feeling her breath hitch.
"No, nothing in particular," she played it off expertly and stepped on his toe in a warning manner, "Oh my bad. I'm really sorry," she mused under her nose and locked eyes with him. The shining emeralds made her heart beat faster in her ribcage, a reaction that she was afraid to confess even to herself.
"Is alright," Harry murmured back and was about to lean in to finally taste those vibrant, rosehip coloured lips, but then—
"Victor! Stop!"
He woke up with intense headache – like someone had hammered his head with extreme carefulness to cause the most pain –, burning stomach and to the scent of fresh eggs, bacons and unmistakable gardenias wafting in his nose. He cautiously opened his eyes, bewildered by the radiant sunshine that hit him square in the face.
He shifted on the most uncomfortable and smallest couch of the world, lifting his arm up to shadow his blurry eyes. Every position was inconvenient and he groaned when his legs went numb, the itchy feeling climbing up from his toes.
"Oh, you're up, Potter," he heard the hoarse voice just above him.
He squinted up and what he saw, he knew, would make most of his acquaintances double over with laughter. There was Pansy Parkinson, with tousled hair and without make-up or the numerous family heirlooms, just in her modest, white nightgown that easily reached her knees and with a spatula in her hand, pointing with it towards him.
"Yeah, I'm up," was all he said, barely able to contain his mirth and locking up this image in his mind for forever. "What had happened?" he asked slowly, sitting up with a little difficulty. He snatched his askew glasses from the coffee table that was near the ugly, over-designed couch.
To that, Pansy thrust out her hips, "The gorilla decide to beat the shit outta' you," she stated, impassively, while Harry nodded along, now understanding the source of his pain. He was blissfully unaware of the big black eyes which made him look like a panda in sunglasses. "Apparently we made the little Weaslette so upset that the groom felt the need to give you a lesson. It was kind of messy, you see, but I pulled of the role of the scared, doting fiancée magnificently," she confessed, her nose scrunched up in dismay, "We needed to leave immediately as you were unconscious after his first strike and the guests started crowding. I don't know your current address so I decided to bring you here. By the way, welcome to the Parkinson Villa."
"Thank you," Harry said with as strained smile, not knowing why this hurt so much. Pansy bit in the inside of her cheek not to laugh as the little injury beside his mouth opened up again.
She shook her head, "At least we surely made the headlines not just for Witch Weekly but in Daily Prophet, too."
Harry sniffed the air and nodded along before asking, as if he hadn't heard the last sentence, "Is something burning?"
Pansy turned her back to him, bewildered, not understanding what he was talking about. She wrinkled her forehead in thought, looked down her spatula and suddenly, she jumped. Seeing the smoke rise from her kitchen, she hurried towards the stove, "Oh shit!" It was clear she never cooked.
Harry laughed. There went their breakfast.