Chapter Text
"Did you really beam me up?
In a cloud of sparkling dust..."
END OF FOURTH YEAR
Pansy lay on her side staring at the water of the Black Lake a foot away from her. Today they were all heading home for the summer, and she needed air and space to think before facing her parents again. The damp grass had seeped through her blouse an hour ago and still she stayed, unable to look away from the water as it rippled and changed with every disturbance in the surface. She was no stranger to this lake. The Slytherin dormitories were located below the water line; their windows provided a view into the murky waters and colored everything a dark shade of moody green which seemed to match their robes. And his eyes.
But up here, in the sun, the water was shimmering and mystical. It seemed to call to her, promising to cleanse her if only she allowed herself to be submerged in it. Which, Pansy thought with a scoff, was not very likely considering the way this water haunted her.
Her entire first year at Hogwarts, Pansy had been plagued by nightmares - visions of herself drowning in bed as the water seeped through cracks in the walls. No one ever came to save her. It was always the same, and when the nightmare would reach the point where water finally covered her head, dream-Pansy would scream and choke on the water until she awoke gasping. It would take until after the first lessons of the day for her to feel as if she could breathe easily again.
Daphne Greengrass, her best friend in Slytherin, had noticed after awhile. It had been Daphne’s idea to come and sit here on edge of the lake, to notice how very different things looked from above the water. How very different things appeared if you stood in the light. Whether Daphne had meant for the idea to be more than literal, if she had been insinuating anything about the Dark Lord, Pansy had never been brave enough to ask.
But Pansy had been coming here ever since. Especially when things got to be too much. Which it always did. It couldn’t be helped when bloody Potter was roaming the halls of the school and causing chaos wherever he went. She would come and stare at this view, reminding herself of the beauty, of the freedom out here, whenever the claustrophobia of the dormitory began to set in. It had helped to repress the nightmares for the past three years.
Until she had watched the TriWizard Tournament champions dive under the surface of the Black Lake to retrieve their loved ones in the second trial. In the same way that those half-drowned loved ones had resurfaced, so too had the clawing, suffocating hysteria returned in the form of her nightmares.
Only this time, instead of Pansy drowning, someone came to save her.
Potter. The Boy Who Lived.
Because of course it was him. The bleeding fool of a Gryffindor who hadn’t been able to abandon anyone down in the depths of the lake, had come to save her.
Her face still flamed at the memory of his hand around her wrist, pulling her to safety and laying her here on the shore, as if he knew this was where she came to feel safe. His green eyes were bright as he replaced her dripping wet robe with his dry one. The warmth of it had made her shiver, and she ran her fingers over the Gryffindor emblem. When dream-Pansy had reached for him, she awoke and Potter was gone.
It had haunted her. The realization that she had moved towards him. What had she been wanting from him? Warmth? An embrace? Answers? And his robe, she found that she missed it. Wished she could have kept it somehow. Wondered what it would have been like if he had been sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor. Would they have been friends then?
She didn’t know. Yet her body was aware of him everywhere now. He was suddenly around every corner, near her in every class, in every thought she had. She tried to ignore her newfound preoccupation with him, and instead increased her snark and outrage towards him. He didn’t even look her way unless it was with trepidation.
Just when she thought she might actually succeed in forgetting about the dream, Potter came back from the maze in the third trial carrying Cedric Diggory’s body. It was so reminiscent of the way he had carried her from the water that she started at the sight. Though it soon became clear he hadn’t saved Diggory. Potter’s eyes were hollow and haunted, and she wanted to know what exactly had he seen and witnessed. It had taken everything in her not to go to him then. To rescue him from the despair he was so evidently drowning in.
But she didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Draco was watching her, his eyes concerned and curious. So Pansy stayed in her seat and watched as a part of The Boy Who Lived died. She hadn’t seen him after that. He had disappeared into the castle. Until she found him at the end-of-term banquet last night. He’d had no idea that she had followed him with her eyes the entire evening wanting to know if he was okay. And when that awful Granger girl had laid her head on Potter’s shoulder in a moment of familiarity and comfort, Pansy had felt a slither of emerald-green envy tighten its grip around her heart.
She rolled onto her back and covered her eyes with the crook of her elbow, groaning in mortification and frustration. A rustle of grass made her sit up sharply.
Harry Potter stood a few feet away from her, his wand drawn and pointed at her. His shoulders were tense, his eyes rimmed in red. “Merlin, Parkinson! What are you doing out here? You half-frightened me to death!”
Pansy’s heart beat wildly in her chest at the sight of him, at the way he held his wand as if his life depended on it, and she was suddenly struck with how young he seemed, facing things that were too big for him. she stood and took a step towards him. Potter was taller than she remembered, until she realized that they had never stood this close to one another. “I suppose I should be flattered that I still have the ability to frighten you after all you’ve faced.”
Harry made a sound in his throat and but didn’t lower his wand. “Yeah, well, it’s not hard considering you’re probably thinking of ten ways to hex me as we speak.”
Pansy studied him, aware of the way his eyes ran up and down her body, likely looking for her own wand. “Eleven, actually.”
Harry rolled his eyes and turned to leave.
“You could stay,” said Pansy quietly. She held up her hands, empty of her wand. “I agree to play nice, if you will.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with Pansy Parkinson?” said Harry flatly, but he lowered his wand slightly.
This time, she rolled her eyes, “Stay or not. I don’t care.” She sat back down turning away from him and trying to ignore the green eyes that were staring at her back. After a few minutes, she felt him sit down next to her, careful to keep distance between them.
“I just need a moment of peace out here,” said Potter, “before going back to it all.” He waved his hand around at some metaphorical burden behind him, and Pansy glanced back at the castle in the distance. She wondered briefly why that moment of peace didn’t include Granger or Weasley.
She said as much, but he didn’t answer, just seemed to consider her words. “Do you ever think that the things you’re thinking, feeling, are just too much to put on others? Like the burden you carry might just suffocate someone else?
Pansy pushed a lock of hair back behind her ears and thought of her nightmare, of the water filling her mouth and lungs.
“Yes,” she whispered. Potter was studying her, his eyes curious, and she was regretting the admission. Regretting letting him see any weakness in her. She didn’t know how much longer she could bear the way he was looking at her. She stood, sighing, and brushing the dirt from her robes. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”
But Potter had grabbed her wrist. “Sit down, Parkinson.” He yanked her back to the ground. She groaned from the impact and glared at him.
“Draco’s right, you do have a death wish,” she said, but she stayed where she was.
Potter shrugged, and his brown hair fell into his eyes. “Perhaps I’m just not afraid of death anymore.”
“Liar,” accused Pansy.
Potter’s eyes snapped to hers. He looked at her then, really looked at her, and she realized suddenly how close he was to her. When had they moved closer? She felt his breath on her face, and wondered if he might kiss her, but he just swallowed and leaned away before saying, “Looks like I’m in good company then.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” argued Pansy.
“Why are you out here, Parkinson? Why are you here with me instead of celebrating Voldemort’s return with the other snakes?”
Pansy winced at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name, but she just shook her head. “Potter, I –“ She fumbled for words, not sure exactly what to say. After a moment, he seemed to take pity on her.
“Never mind. Let’s not ruin this with words we don’t mean, Parkinson. You can tell me tomorrow, yeah?” He laid back in the grass, breaking eye contact with her.
She breathed in relief, seeing the words for what they were. He was giving her an out. Letting her off the hook until tomorrow.
When whatever truce that had settled over them today had evaporated.
When they were enemies again.
And they would have no such conversation where they bared their souls to one another.
“Deal,” she said, laying down next to him in the grass. Pansy smiled up at the blue sky, glad he wasn’t looking at her. She felt incandescent, lying there side by side with the Boy Who Lived, aware that at least for this moment, he had broken through the darkness around and within her.
They stayed that way for a while, lost in silence, until it was time to get up and head back to the castle.
“See you next term?” said Potter.
Pansy nodded, “But if you tell anyone about this day, I will hunt you down and cast the Cruciatus curse on you without hesitation. Understood?”
Potter just smirked infuriatingly and said, “There’s the Pansy I know.”