Fic: The More You Ignore Me (The Closer I Get) - Part 2 by thusspakekate
Title: The More You Ignore Me (The Closer I Get)
Username: thusspakekate
Pairing: Harry/Pansy
Type: Het
Prompt: #51 - Everyone’s after Harry after the war but Pansy’s offer is the only one he believes is genuine. Aka ‘only Nixon could go to china - only Pansy could bed Harry’
Rating: NC-17
Word Count:11,807
Warnings/content: some delicious smutty goodness
Summary: It's been a month since Harry broke up with Pansy Parkinson, but he can't get her out of his head. Literally.
Notes: This is not the fic I initially started out intending to write. It kind of took on a life of its own and strayed from the prompt, and for that I apologize. That being said, I really enjoyed the process of writing this and am, for once, rather pleased with the outcome. Major thanks to my wonderful beta, who is always there when I need her and who patiently answers my anxiety-riddled “does this even make sense?!” messages at 2am. Additional thanks to the mod for putting this whole shebang together. Title taken from the Morrissey song of the same name.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters/references are property of JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement is intended.
This story is broken into two different parts due to length.
Part 1 is here.
The More You Ignore Me (The Closer I Get) continued....
She lived above a lingerie shop in Soho, and it was dark by the time he reached her flat. He hoped that none of the passers-by thought he was just some perv lurking around, ogling the half-naked mannequins in the window. He paced the sidewalk, gathering his courage, rehearsing in his mind what he wanted to say. But everything he came up with felt insufficient.
He felt someone step up behind him, but didn't bother to turn around. He already knew it was her. It was always her.
“What are you going to say to her?”
“No bloody clue,” he said with a sigh. “Any ideas?”
She raised an eyebrow. “If I know myself, she's going to make this as painful as possible. Telling you what to say would be like cheating.”
“Yeah.” He snorted. “I figured.”
It was now or never, he decided. He'd come up with something. He stepped towards the door to the left of the shop and pressed the button next to her name. Static crackled through the speaker next to the buzzer.
“Door's open,” came Pansy's distorted voice. “I'm almost ready.”
There was a low, buzzing sound, and then the front door clicked open. There was no way she'd sound so cheery if she knew it was him. Still, he hadn't been expecting to be let into her flat this easy, and wasn't going to spoil an in if given one. He reached for the door, but a hand on his wrist stopped him before he could open it.
“Think carefully before you speak. She's going to be on the defensive.”
Harry looked at her over his shoulder, taking in her tight red dress and bright painted lips. The bravado of her outfit was at odds with the uncertainty in her eyes. “I really hurt you, didn't I?”
She gave him a wan, twisted smile and shrugged. “I have a feeling she's used to it.”
Harry turned back to the door and steeled himself. She'd called him a coward once, and she'd been right at the time. But not anymore. He could do this. He could do anything he put his mind to. He was Harry fucking Potter.
A naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered as he climbed the stairs to the second landing. The door to her flat was slightly ajar, but he knocked anyway before peeking inside. “Pansy?” he called out, taking a step inside and shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
From the front of the flat, he could see the entire living and down the short hallway that led to her bedroom. The door to her room opened and she stuck her head out, mouth already open, poised to speak. When she saw him, it slammed shut.
She stepped out of her bedroom wearing a silk dressing gown, and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Harry,” she said without a trace of warmth. “What are you doing here?”
He took a tentative step forward “Can we talk?”
“I don't know what you think we have to discuss.”
“A lot of things, actually. Please?”
She uncrossed her arms with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. But I'm going out soon. You can talk at me while I finish getting ready, but don't expect me to respond.”
She disappeared inside her bedroom, and Harry hastened to follow. Her room was exactly as he remembered: comfortable, but still slightly posh, decorated in warm cream colors with pops of periwinkle. She sat down at her vanity and began to fiddle with her hair.
Awkwardly, Harry perched on the edge of her bed and watched her reflection in the mirror as she pinned her hair into place. “Hot date tonight?” he asked, his nerves making him chuckle stupidly.
Her reply was slightly muffled by the hairpin between her teeth. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I'm having dinner with Brian Seaworthy tonight. You may know him; he works in the Minister's office.”
“But he's a Muggleborn!” Harry blurted.
If looks could kill, the glare she leveled him in the mirror would have been as deadly as an Avada Kedavra. “Didn't realize you were such a blood purist these days,” she said sharply. “How much you've changed.”
“Not me,” Harry said weakly, wishing he could cram his outburst back inside his mouth. “I just...I didn't think you'd ever date a Muggleborn. I'm just surprised, that's all.” He didn't add that he felt slightly gutted by the thought that she had moved on so quickly.
“I know which way the political winds are blowing, Harry, and I'm not stupid. Brian is being groomed to be Minister one day, and I'd make a wonderful Minister's wife, don't you think?”
He watched her for a moment in the mirror, trying to decide whether she was being serious or not. “That's kind of mercenary, even for you.”
She rested her hands on the top of her vanity and closed her eyes. “Did you just come here to criticize my dating habits, or was there something in particular you wanted?”
Harry reached for Mr. Sparklyhorn, the worn-out stuffed unicorn that sat in the middle of her bed. He was beginning to wonder if coming here was such a good idea in the first place. Just because he couldn't seem to move on, didn't mean that she was having that same problem.
“It wasn't like that with me, was it?” he asked. “You weren't just with me because of who I am, right?”
“Being Harry Potter's secret bit on the side never did me any good, if that's what you're asking,” she said acidly. She stood and snatched the stuffed unicorn from his hands. “You've lost the right to touch Mr Sparklyhorn.”
He mumbled an apology and returned to the impossible task of figuring out what to do with his hands.
She sat back down at her vanity, placing Mr Sparklyhorn next to her collection of perfumes, and uncapped a number of jars. “I'm going to ask you once more, and then I'm going to kick you out,” she said as she powdered her nose furiously. “Why are you here?”
Harry folded his hands in his lap and looked down, wondering how he was going to find a way to say all that he wanted to say, when he wasn't even sure exactly what he wanted to say in the first place. He'd never been good about expressing his feelings; he was used to taking action more than talking things through. But this wasn't the sort of problem he could fight his way through; he had to say something to get her to understand why he'd come.
Eventually, he settled on: “My bed still smells like you.”
She paused, lowering her powder puff. “Sorry?”
“My bed,” he repeated. “The sheets. I can still smell you on them.”
She held his eyes in the mirror for a second, and for a mad, happy moment he thought he might have said the right thing to crack her shell. But then the tension broke, and she was back to applying the translucent powder to her face. “Then wash them. Jesus, Harry, it's been a month. That's just unhygienic.”
“I have. I just mean that...I don't know. I miss you. A lot. I can't stop thinking about you.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me.”
Harry squirmed. Difficult was an understatement; she was making this bloody impossible. “Do you miss me ever?” he asked bravely, holding his breath as he waited for her response.
Her hands slowed, and she chanced a glance at him in the mirror. “Does it even matter? You're still you, and I'm still me.” That wasn't a no, Harry realized, heart speeding up. It wasn't quite a yes, but it definitely wasn't a no either. “And besides--” she picked up a tube of mascara, “--I'm with Brian now. At least he isn't ashamed to be seen with me in public.”
Harry looked down again, shame creeping in and making his stomach churn. Guilt gnawed at him like flesh-eating virus. “I'm sorry if I made you feel that way, but I wasn't ashamed of you, not really. It was just...complicated. ”
Her voice was flat, devoid of all emotion when she answered. “No, it really wasn't. Either you wanted to be with me, or you didn't. You, apparently, didn't.”
“But I did! I wanted to be with you, it was just everything else that I didn't want. The drama, the baggage. Your friends, my friends, the war, the public...everything. It was too much, and when you told me that you loved me and wanted everyone to know about us, I just...I sort of freaked out.” He sighed, feeling wretched. “I'm sorry.”
Instantly, she was on her feet. Before Harry even had a moment to realize what was happening, the inside of her palm was crashing against his cheek. Compared to the hits he took in the field, it hardly hurt, but the slap shocked him into momentary silence. Raising a hand to his smarting cheek, he looked at her with wide eyes.
He had broken her shell all right, but instead of seeing the warmth and adoration that she had once held for him in her eyes, there was piercing anger. “How dare you mention that!” she demanded, voice shaking almost violently. “I only told you that because I trusted you! Why would you come back here and throw it in my face? Are you trying to humiliate me?”
“I'm not here to humiliate you!” he yelped, leaping to his feet. He was hurt and confused, and it only made sense to match volume with volume. She took an instinctive step back, reaching behind her for the edge of the vanity. “I'm here to tell you that I miss you, and that I want you back! I came to tell you that I bloody well love you too!”
Her mouth fell open, pursed in a dumb looking “o” shape. The moment dragged out as she stared at him, her dark eyes searching his. Slowly, she shook her head. “I don't know what sick game you're playing, Harry, but don't you think you've done enough? Can't you just leave me alone?”
“No, I can't,” he answered, irrationally angry and so, so frustrated. For once, he didn't even think about where his hands were. “Because you won’t leave me alone either. You're in my head, Pansy. I think about you all the fucking time. Everywhere I go, I see you. I can't even go lunch with my fucking mates without thinking about you the whole time. It's like you’re haunting me.”
Her lip curled. “Good. You deserve to be haunted. And you're fucking mental if you think I'd ever get back with you after what you did to me. Do you know how hard it was for me to say that to you? I trusted you. And you chucked me, that very same night! I--” she faltered, and for a moment Harry thought that the tears that had welled in her eyes were about to fall. Instead, the line of her jaw hardened and her fists turned into balls. “And I hate you for it!”
Suddenly, her tiny fists were pounding against his chest. There was little force behind the blows, it was like being swatted by an irate child. He grabbed her wrists, and she struggled, trying to twist out of his grip.
“Let me go!” she yelled, her voice finally breaking. She stopped struggled as the tears she'd been trying so stubbornly to hold back began to fall. “I hate you,” she repeated weakly.
Harry reached out to cup her cheek, brushing away her tears with the pad of his thumb. “And I love you,” he said as calmly as he could, though his heart was simultaneously thundering and breaking inside his chest. He stared at her intently, willing her to return his gaze. If only she would look at him, she'd see the sincerity in his eyes. “Please, Pansy, if you have any affection left for me...”
Her chest was heaving as she took deep breaths through her open mouth. Slowly, her eyes fluttered up to meet his. She looked as though she was poised to say something, but at that exact moment, the front door buzzer sounded, effectively shattering the moment.
Harry didn't stop her when she wrenched her hands away to run them through her hair, ruining all the careful pinning she'd just done. “Shit. That'll be Brian. Just... just stay here, all right? And don't make a fucking sound.”
She pulled her dressing gown shut and scampered out of the room. Harry followed into the hall, watching as she hesitated a moment before pressing the button on the intercom.
“Brian?” she asked, her voice suddenly weak and scratchy. “Did you get my owl?”
There was a pause before a distorted, tinny voice replied. “No? Is there something wrong?”
“You must have just missed it.” She added a tiny cough. “I'm sorry, darling, but I can't go out tonight. The sushi I had for lunch did not agree with me at all. Can we reschedule for another time?”
“Of course we can. Do you want me to come up? I can ring my mum and get her chicken soup recipe.”
There was a hollowness to her voice. “I'd rather you not see me like this.”
“All right,” was his simple reply. “I'll bring you some tomorrow, though. No arguing.”
She sighed. “No arguing. Goodnight, Brian.”
“Goodnight, Pansy. Feel better.”
Releasing the intercom, Pansy rested her forehead against the wall. She stayed like that, unmoving, for a minute, before lifting her head and squaring her shoulders. Harry tried to jump back into the bedroom unnoticed, but she caught him before he could slip inside. Turning on her heel, she stormed through the living room and down the hall.
“I thought I told you to stay in the room,” she said as she slammed the bedroom door behind her.
Harry said nothing, just observed her. She seemed determined, her heart-shaped chin jutting out defiantly. She took a step towards him, and Harry retreated one, and then another, until the back of his knees hit the edge of her bed. She shoved him hard, and he fell backwards onto the bed.
“Did you mean it?” she demanded, stepping into the space between his legs. “The man I just sent away is a good man, an honest man, a man who genuinely cares about me. I need to know that you meant it.”
Dumbly, Harry nodded. He did mean it, he truly did.
She held his gaze steady. “Prove it.”
He stared at her, mind whirling as he tried to decipher the meaning behind her challenge. He'd told her the truth, but how was he expected to prove it? There was no one there but them, no one bear witness to his confession. What could he do to show how serious he was?
Harry reached out, taking her hand in his. She stared at their joined hands, eyebrow arched, clearly unimpressed. He tugged hard, and she landed on top of him so that they were chest to chest, nose to nose. Her face was so close that if he tried to look into her eyes, he'd only see one, so instead he concentrated on her lips. They were full and soft and curling slightly, though he couldn't tell if it was into a smile or a sneer.
“Is this your brilliant plan then?” she asked, her lips brushing his. “Going to fuck your way back into my good graces? You're a good lay, Harry, but you're not that good.”
Her hair felt like strands of silk as he carded his hand through them, tucking a stray piece behind her ear. She closed her eyes, and he felt a shiver run through her body. “I'm not going to fuck you,” he whispered. Deftly, he flipped them so she was pinned beneath him. “I'm going to make love to you.”
She rolled her eyes, pushing her head into the mattress so he could see the entirety of her repulsed expression. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Harry. Of all the sentimen--”
He cut her off with a kiss. She made a surprised noise and squirmed for a moment, before giving up and melting into it. In truth, he was surprised by how little she resisted, how easily her lips parted to let him in. It had been a month since they last snogged, but it was easier and more familiar than riding a broom. Her eyes fell shut and she made a little humming noise in the back of her throat, a clear invitation for him to continue.
His hands skated down her side, coasting over the slick silk of her dressing gown. He fumbled with the sash and parted the fabric, gliding his hand back up the curves of her body, pausing to palm her generous breasts. He ducked his head to kiss her neck, teasing the delicate skin near the hollow of her throat with his teeth. Nibbling a trail back up, he bit the bottom of her ear and whispered, “Get in the middle of the bed.”
The noise she made-a breathy little moan-sent a corresponding thrill down his spine. He sat back enough for her to wiggle out from underneath him and crawl towards the head of the bed. She cast a glance at him over her shoulder and arched her back, sticking her arse into the air.
“Is this what you want from me, Harry?” There was heat in her eyes, but a distinct bitterness in her voice. “Is this what you've missed so much?”
Harry followed her to the middle of the bed. “No,” he said solemnly, peeling her dressing gown off her shoulders and dropping a soft kiss to the nape of her neck. He maneuvered her onto her back and settled himself on top of her, his hips in the space between her modestly parted legs. “I miss you. This--” his hand traveled the length of her body, slipping between her legs to cup her mound, “--is just a perk.”
Her breath hitched as he begins to rub, and he could feel her wetness begin to seep through the lace of her knickers. He lowered his head to kiss the swell of her breasts, biting gently-just enough so that he left a faint red mark behind, but not enough to cause actual pain.
“You've got--” she said, gasping as his fingers slipped inside her knickers and traced the length of her slit, “--a funny way of saying you want me for more than my body.”
His fingers probed deeper, sliding between her folds and seeking out her clit. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked against her skin.
A broken laugh. “Fuck no.”
He didn't continue playing with her clit, though he loved the way she writhed beneath him when he did. He wanted to make her come, he was going to make her come, but he wanted to take it slow. It was a dramatic change from how they usually fucked-hard and fast and fucking raunchy-but if he couldn't properly express how he felt with words, he'd try to do it with actions.
He abandoned her breasts and kissed a line down her stomach, loving the way the muscles tensed below his lips, until he was between her legs, sucking the damp crotch of her knickers into his mouth, tasting the tangy sweetness of her arousal that has soaked through the fabric.
When his hands hooked around the elastic waistline, he felt her entire body tense.
Her voice was quieter than normal, almost nervous. “You don't have to do that.”
Harry rested his cheek against her thigh and brought one hand down to idly stroke her swollen lips through the thin piece of lace. “But I want to.”
He could hear her breathing heavily, but didn't look up, instead focusing on his fingers as they played. He didn't want to push too hard, knowing this would be a big step for them. In all their time together, she'd never once let him go down on her, always squirming out of his grip and mumbling excuses about it being 'too intimate.' But now he knew that he wanted that sort of intimacy with her, and he needed to let her know it.
When she didn't answer, he buried his face between her legs and inhaled. She laughed, though it sounded uncertain. He made sure that his appreciative moan was loud enough for her to hear. “I want to taste you. My god, Pansy. You smell so good.”
A resolute exhale came from above, and then her hips lifted off the bed in silent permission. Harry wanted to shout hallelujah, but maintained his composure as he peeled off her knickers and got his first, unhurried look at her naked cunt in far too long. She was beautiful: slick pink folds, swollen and glistening in the dim light of the bedroom, bracketed by flawless, creamy white thighs. He parted her lips with his fingers and leaned forward, sticking out the tip of his tongue to swirl around her clit.
Although she moaned, he could still feel the tension in her muscles, the self-consciousness in her reaction. He soldiered on, eating her out with reverence, moaning and humming appreciatively as he buried his face between her legs.
Slowly, she started to relax, and even began a series of tiny but encouraging hip rolls. But it wasn't until he slipped two fingers inside and began to slowly fuck her with his hand that she unfurled completely, like a flower blooming into life after a long, cold winter. Embarrassment forgotten, her thighs inched further and further apart until she was opened wide for him.
Harry's face was completely covered in her wetness; he could feel it on his cheek, his chin, his nose. But he didn't care. He'd gladly have bathed in it had she asked, anything for proof that she'd finally let him do this. Every one of his senses was overwhelmed by her: the way she tasted, the way she felt, the way she smelled, and sounded, and looked. He was having trouble breathing, but didn't let that distract him. He just took another deep breath and sucked harder on her clit, encouraged and out of his mind aroused by the way she was now shamelessly trying to hump his face, feet pressed flat against the mattress and hips in the air.
His cock was painfully hard, stuck between his stomach and the bed. He almost thought he could come just from this, untouched and rutting against the mattress, his head trapped between her surprisingly strong thighs. When her hand settled of the back of his head, her fingers curling through his hair and pulling his face against her harder, he worried that he actually might.
But her breathing soon became erratic and her legs began to shake. The constant grind of her hips turned jerky, and her bare moans formed into broken 'almost-theres' and 'just-like-thats.' Her entire body seized when she finally came. He felt the muscles inside her pulse as her taste exploded on his tongue. But still, he didn't relent. He ignored the burning need for oxygen and lapped up her tangy, sticky arousal until her body relaxed and she sank into the mattress, utterly spent.
He pressed a final kiss to the inside of each of her thighs, and crawled on top of her, covering her body with his own.
“You're sticky,” she said, wrinkling her nose. He mumbled an apology and moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but she sat up quickly and grabbed his face, dragging her tongue over his chin and up his cheek. Settling back against the pillows, she smirked. “I do taste good.”
Harry's heart felt just a little bit lighter.
“You know who else tastes really good?” she asked, her grin turning feral. Her hand shot out with a sniper's precision to grab his cock through his trousers. “You.”
A moan tried to escape him, but he swallowed it back as best he could. It took every ounce of self-control he had to push her hands away as she reached for his fly.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He leaned down to nuzzle her neck. “Don't you see what I'm trying to say? This isn't about sex, this is about you, and it’s about the fact that I love you. I just wanted to make you feel good. I want to make you happy. ”
She laughed, a high-pitched assault to the ears that made Harry's heart swell to hear. Her hands snaked around his neck, pulling him on top of her.
“Oh, Harry,” she said, lifting her head to kiss him. “There's no need to play the sexual martyr. I knew that months ago. Of course you were in love with me; it's me we're talking about. You were the one who needed to figure it out. And I knew I was going to take you back the moment you showed up on my doorstep, looking like someone'd just kicked your puppy. I love you, you stupid arsehole. I just wanted to watch you sweat it out a bit.”
Harry's jaw dropped, and she laughed again, sitting up enough that she could bite his lower lip. “And you deserved a good smacking while I was at it,” she added. “Teach you to try and break my heart next time.”
Harry stared at her in disbelief. “What about Seaworthy?”
“What about him? He's a nice bloke, easy on the eyes, but he's not you.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Made you jealous though, didn't it? My plan worked to perfection,” she preened.
Plan? She'd had a plan? Was it just to make him jealous, or was it larger than that? “You didn't cast any spells on me recently, did you?”
She looked at him like he was utterly daft for a moment. “No, but I can if you want me to.” She grinned, pushing him onto his back. She straddled his hips and reached for belt. “Have you ever heard of consensual Imperio? Just think about it, Harry, one flick of my wand and I could turn you into my mindless little fucktoy. Or--” she shrugged, “you could do it to me. Either way.”
Harry groaned, thinking that he did, in fact, love Pansy Parkinson. Very fucking much.
***
Pansy tapped her toe nervously as they stood in front of the heavy, wooden door. With his hand on the small of her back, Harry bent down and whispered, “Are you ready?”
She bit her lip, looking up at him. “Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck, I don't know. This was a bad idea. What was I thinking? Being secretive is fun. It's sexy! We should really reconsider. Going public is overrated anyway.”
Instead of responding, Harry just gave her a look. There was no way he was going to letting her off the hook, not after the hell he'd gone through over this.
“Oh, fine,” she huffed. “Have it your way. Are we even sure that someone from the Prophet is in there?”
“I called in the anonymous tip this morning, just like you told me to. There will be at least one reporter, if not more, inside already.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I'm too clever for my own good. And have I mentioned how much I fucking hate the Leaky Cauldron? Couldn't we just have arranged to be caught in flagrante at some big Minstry event? That would have been so much more glamorous.”
“We're doing it like this precisely because it's not glamorous, or scandalous, or any other sort of '-ous.' It's precisely what we talked about, what you said you wanted.”
“What I wanted was to be the Minister's wife,” she grumbled.
“I might never be the Minister of Magic, but I am incredibly famous.”
“You are that.” She gave him a begrudging smile. “And you're also filthy rich.”
“Don't forget devastatingly handsome.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don't know about devastatingly, but I wouldn't kick you out of bed.”
Harry made a noise of mock outrage. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him. “You couldn't kick me out of bed if you tried.”
“Only because I'm so dainty and delicate, and you're a hunkering brute.”
His hands traveled down her backside, squeezing her arse. “Delicate is a word that shouldn't even be in your vocabulary. And no one who snores as loudly as you do can be described as dainty.”
“Oh, Harry,” she said sweetly, staring up at him with adoration in her eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”
He leaned in, rubbing his nose against hers. “Only if you do first.”
She laughed, and pushed him away. “My god, we're repulsive.” Straightening up, she turned back to the pub's entrance. “I guess we'd better get this over with then. Are you sure you wouldn't rather get caught giving it to me hard at the Ministry Christmas party? It seems so much more our style.”
Harry opened the door, giving her a gentle shove through it. “Stop stalling, you brat.”
Saturday nights at the Leaky were always busy, and no one seemed to notice them enter. The room was crowded, dark, and noisy.
“Brat?” Pansy called over her shoulder. “What are you going to do about it, Harry? Spank me?”
Harry detected the slight edge to her voice. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Only if you're good.” He led her to the center of the barroom, where they would be visible to any and all who happened to look in their direction. “Ready?”
Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. “Ready.”
It was the same every time they kissed, the world around them just seemed to slip away. Harry could vaguely hear the room go quiet, followed by excited chatter and the bright flash of light from a reporter's camera. He focused on the slick glide of Pansy's lips against his own, the overwhelming sensation of 'rightness' he felt when she was in his arms. He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.
“Welcome to the front pages.”
He could feel her grin against his lips. “Bring it on.”
-----
For the Love of Pansy (Round 1) Masterlist
Username: thusspakekate
Pairing: Harry/Pansy
Type: Het
Prompt: #51 - Everyone’s after Harry after the war but Pansy’s offer is the only one he believes is genuine. Aka ‘only Nixon could go to china - only Pansy could bed Harry’
Rating: NC-17
Word Count:11,807
Warnings/content: some delicious smutty goodness
Summary: It's been a month since Harry broke up with Pansy Parkinson, but he can't get her out of his head. Literally.
Notes: This is not the fic I initially started out intending to write. It kind of took on a life of its own and strayed from the prompt, and for that I apologize. That being said, I really enjoyed the process of writing this and am, for once, rather pleased with the outcome. Major thanks to my wonderful beta, who is always there when I need her and who patiently answers my anxiety-riddled “does this even make sense?!” messages at 2am. Additional thanks to the mod for putting this whole shebang together. Title taken from the Morrissey song of the same name.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters/references are property of JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement is intended.
This story is broken into two different parts due to length.
Part 1 is here.
The More You Ignore Me (The Closer I Get) continued....
She lived above a lingerie shop in Soho, and it was dark by the time he reached her flat. He hoped that none of the passers-by thought he was just some perv lurking around, ogling the half-naked mannequins in the window. He paced the sidewalk, gathering his courage, rehearsing in his mind what he wanted to say. But everything he came up with felt insufficient.
He felt someone step up behind him, but didn't bother to turn around. He already knew it was her. It was always her.
“What are you going to say to her?”
“No bloody clue,” he said with a sigh. “Any ideas?”
She raised an eyebrow. “If I know myself, she's going to make this as painful as possible. Telling you what to say would be like cheating.”
“Yeah.” He snorted. “I figured.”
It was now or never, he decided. He'd come up with something. He stepped towards the door to the left of the shop and pressed the button next to her name. Static crackled through the speaker next to the buzzer.
“Door's open,” came Pansy's distorted voice. “I'm almost ready.”
There was a low, buzzing sound, and then the front door clicked open. There was no way she'd sound so cheery if she knew it was him. Still, he hadn't been expecting to be let into her flat this easy, and wasn't going to spoil an in if given one. He reached for the door, but a hand on his wrist stopped him before he could open it.
“Think carefully before you speak. She's going to be on the defensive.”
Harry looked at her over his shoulder, taking in her tight red dress and bright painted lips. The bravado of her outfit was at odds with the uncertainty in her eyes. “I really hurt you, didn't I?”
She gave him a wan, twisted smile and shrugged. “I have a feeling she's used to it.”
Harry turned back to the door and steeled himself. She'd called him a coward once, and she'd been right at the time. But not anymore. He could do this. He could do anything he put his mind to. He was Harry fucking Potter.
A naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered as he climbed the stairs to the second landing. The door to her flat was slightly ajar, but he knocked anyway before peeking inside. “Pansy?” he called out, taking a step inside and shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
From the front of the flat, he could see the entire living and down the short hallway that led to her bedroom. The door to her room opened and she stuck her head out, mouth already open, poised to speak. When she saw him, it slammed shut.
She stepped out of her bedroom wearing a silk dressing gown, and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Harry,” she said without a trace of warmth. “What are you doing here?”
He took a tentative step forward “Can we talk?”
“I don't know what you think we have to discuss.”
“A lot of things, actually. Please?”
She uncrossed her arms with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. But I'm going out soon. You can talk at me while I finish getting ready, but don't expect me to respond.”
She disappeared inside her bedroom, and Harry hastened to follow. Her room was exactly as he remembered: comfortable, but still slightly posh, decorated in warm cream colors with pops of periwinkle. She sat down at her vanity and began to fiddle with her hair.
Awkwardly, Harry perched on the edge of her bed and watched her reflection in the mirror as she pinned her hair into place. “Hot date tonight?” he asked, his nerves making him chuckle stupidly.
Her reply was slightly muffled by the hairpin between her teeth. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I'm having dinner with Brian Seaworthy tonight. You may know him; he works in the Minister's office.”
“But he's a Muggleborn!” Harry blurted.
If looks could kill, the glare she leveled him in the mirror would have been as deadly as an Avada Kedavra. “Didn't realize you were such a blood purist these days,” she said sharply. “How much you've changed.”
“Not me,” Harry said weakly, wishing he could cram his outburst back inside his mouth. “I just...I didn't think you'd ever date a Muggleborn. I'm just surprised, that's all.” He didn't add that he felt slightly gutted by the thought that she had moved on so quickly.
“I know which way the political winds are blowing, Harry, and I'm not stupid. Brian is being groomed to be Minister one day, and I'd make a wonderful Minister's wife, don't you think?”
He watched her for a moment in the mirror, trying to decide whether she was being serious or not. “That's kind of mercenary, even for you.”
She rested her hands on the top of her vanity and closed her eyes. “Did you just come here to criticize my dating habits, or was there something in particular you wanted?”
Harry reached for Mr. Sparklyhorn, the worn-out stuffed unicorn that sat in the middle of her bed. He was beginning to wonder if coming here was such a good idea in the first place. Just because he couldn't seem to move on, didn't mean that she was having that same problem.
“It wasn't like that with me, was it?” he asked. “You weren't just with me because of who I am, right?”
“Being Harry Potter's secret bit on the side never did me any good, if that's what you're asking,” she said acidly. She stood and snatched the stuffed unicorn from his hands. “You've lost the right to touch Mr Sparklyhorn.”
He mumbled an apology and returned to the impossible task of figuring out what to do with his hands.
She sat back down at her vanity, placing Mr Sparklyhorn next to her collection of perfumes, and uncapped a number of jars. “I'm going to ask you once more, and then I'm going to kick you out,” she said as she powdered her nose furiously. “Why are you here?”
Harry folded his hands in his lap and looked down, wondering how he was going to find a way to say all that he wanted to say, when he wasn't even sure exactly what he wanted to say in the first place. He'd never been good about expressing his feelings; he was used to taking action more than talking things through. But this wasn't the sort of problem he could fight his way through; he had to say something to get her to understand why he'd come.
Eventually, he settled on: “My bed still smells like you.”
She paused, lowering her powder puff. “Sorry?”
“My bed,” he repeated. “The sheets. I can still smell you on them.”
She held his eyes in the mirror for a second, and for a mad, happy moment he thought he might have said the right thing to crack her shell. But then the tension broke, and she was back to applying the translucent powder to her face. “Then wash them. Jesus, Harry, it's been a month. That's just unhygienic.”
“I have. I just mean that...I don't know. I miss you. A lot. I can't stop thinking about you.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me.”
Harry squirmed. Difficult was an understatement; she was making this bloody impossible. “Do you miss me ever?” he asked bravely, holding his breath as he waited for her response.
Her hands slowed, and she chanced a glance at him in the mirror. “Does it even matter? You're still you, and I'm still me.” That wasn't a no, Harry realized, heart speeding up. It wasn't quite a yes, but it definitely wasn't a no either. “And besides--” she picked up a tube of mascara, “--I'm with Brian now. At least he isn't ashamed to be seen with me in public.”
Harry looked down again, shame creeping in and making his stomach churn. Guilt gnawed at him like flesh-eating virus. “I'm sorry if I made you feel that way, but I wasn't ashamed of you, not really. It was just...complicated. ”
Her voice was flat, devoid of all emotion when she answered. “No, it really wasn't. Either you wanted to be with me, or you didn't. You, apparently, didn't.”
“But I did! I wanted to be with you, it was just everything else that I didn't want. The drama, the baggage. Your friends, my friends, the war, the public...everything. It was too much, and when you told me that you loved me and wanted everyone to know about us, I just...I sort of freaked out.” He sighed, feeling wretched. “I'm sorry.”
Instantly, she was on her feet. Before Harry even had a moment to realize what was happening, the inside of her palm was crashing against his cheek. Compared to the hits he took in the field, it hardly hurt, but the slap shocked him into momentary silence. Raising a hand to his smarting cheek, he looked at her with wide eyes.
He had broken her shell all right, but instead of seeing the warmth and adoration that she had once held for him in her eyes, there was piercing anger. “How dare you mention that!” she demanded, voice shaking almost violently. “I only told you that because I trusted you! Why would you come back here and throw it in my face? Are you trying to humiliate me?”
“I'm not here to humiliate you!” he yelped, leaping to his feet. He was hurt and confused, and it only made sense to match volume with volume. She took an instinctive step back, reaching behind her for the edge of the vanity. “I'm here to tell you that I miss you, and that I want you back! I came to tell you that I bloody well love you too!”
Her mouth fell open, pursed in a dumb looking “o” shape. The moment dragged out as she stared at him, her dark eyes searching his. Slowly, she shook her head. “I don't know what sick game you're playing, Harry, but don't you think you've done enough? Can't you just leave me alone?”
“No, I can't,” he answered, irrationally angry and so, so frustrated. For once, he didn't even think about where his hands were. “Because you won’t leave me alone either. You're in my head, Pansy. I think about you all the fucking time. Everywhere I go, I see you. I can't even go lunch with my fucking mates without thinking about you the whole time. It's like you’re haunting me.”
Her lip curled. “Good. You deserve to be haunted. And you're fucking mental if you think I'd ever get back with you after what you did to me. Do you know how hard it was for me to say that to you? I trusted you. And you chucked me, that very same night! I--” she faltered, and for a moment Harry thought that the tears that had welled in her eyes were about to fall. Instead, the line of her jaw hardened and her fists turned into balls. “And I hate you for it!”
Suddenly, her tiny fists were pounding against his chest. There was little force behind the blows, it was like being swatted by an irate child. He grabbed her wrists, and she struggled, trying to twist out of his grip.
“Let me go!” she yelled, her voice finally breaking. She stopped struggled as the tears she'd been trying so stubbornly to hold back began to fall. “I hate you,” she repeated weakly.
Harry reached out to cup her cheek, brushing away her tears with the pad of his thumb. “And I love you,” he said as calmly as he could, though his heart was simultaneously thundering and breaking inside his chest. He stared at her intently, willing her to return his gaze. If only she would look at him, she'd see the sincerity in his eyes. “Please, Pansy, if you have any affection left for me...”
Her chest was heaving as she took deep breaths through her open mouth. Slowly, her eyes fluttered up to meet his. She looked as though she was poised to say something, but at that exact moment, the front door buzzer sounded, effectively shattering the moment.
Harry didn't stop her when she wrenched her hands away to run them through her hair, ruining all the careful pinning she'd just done. “Shit. That'll be Brian. Just... just stay here, all right? And don't make a fucking sound.”
She pulled her dressing gown shut and scampered out of the room. Harry followed into the hall, watching as she hesitated a moment before pressing the button on the intercom.
“Brian?” she asked, her voice suddenly weak and scratchy. “Did you get my owl?”
There was a pause before a distorted, tinny voice replied. “No? Is there something wrong?”
“You must have just missed it.” She added a tiny cough. “I'm sorry, darling, but I can't go out tonight. The sushi I had for lunch did not agree with me at all. Can we reschedule for another time?”
“Of course we can. Do you want me to come up? I can ring my mum and get her chicken soup recipe.”
There was a hollowness to her voice. “I'd rather you not see me like this.”
“All right,” was his simple reply. “I'll bring you some tomorrow, though. No arguing.”
She sighed. “No arguing. Goodnight, Brian.”
“Goodnight, Pansy. Feel better.”
Releasing the intercom, Pansy rested her forehead against the wall. She stayed like that, unmoving, for a minute, before lifting her head and squaring her shoulders. Harry tried to jump back into the bedroom unnoticed, but she caught him before he could slip inside. Turning on her heel, she stormed through the living room and down the hall.
“I thought I told you to stay in the room,” she said as she slammed the bedroom door behind her.
Harry said nothing, just observed her. She seemed determined, her heart-shaped chin jutting out defiantly. She took a step towards him, and Harry retreated one, and then another, until the back of his knees hit the edge of her bed. She shoved him hard, and he fell backwards onto the bed.
“Did you mean it?” she demanded, stepping into the space between his legs. “The man I just sent away is a good man, an honest man, a man who genuinely cares about me. I need to know that you meant it.”
Dumbly, Harry nodded. He did mean it, he truly did.
She held his gaze steady. “Prove it.”
He stared at her, mind whirling as he tried to decipher the meaning behind her challenge. He'd told her the truth, but how was he expected to prove it? There was no one there but them, no one bear witness to his confession. What could he do to show how serious he was?
Harry reached out, taking her hand in his. She stared at their joined hands, eyebrow arched, clearly unimpressed. He tugged hard, and she landed on top of him so that they were chest to chest, nose to nose. Her face was so close that if he tried to look into her eyes, he'd only see one, so instead he concentrated on her lips. They were full and soft and curling slightly, though he couldn't tell if it was into a smile or a sneer.
“Is this your brilliant plan then?” she asked, her lips brushing his. “Going to fuck your way back into my good graces? You're a good lay, Harry, but you're not that good.”
Her hair felt like strands of silk as he carded his hand through them, tucking a stray piece behind her ear. She closed her eyes, and he felt a shiver run through her body. “I'm not going to fuck you,” he whispered. Deftly, he flipped them so she was pinned beneath him. “I'm going to make love to you.”
She rolled her eyes, pushing her head into the mattress so he could see the entirety of her repulsed expression. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Harry. Of all the sentimen--”
He cut her off with a kiss. She made a surprised noise and squirmed for a moment, before giving up and melting into it. In truth, he was surprised by how little she resisted, how easily her lips parted to let him in. It had been a month since they last snogged, but it was easier and more familiar than riding a broom. Her eyes fell shut and she made a little humming noise in the back of her throat, a clear invitation for him to continue.
His hands skated down her side, coasting over the slick silk of her dressing gown. He fumbled with the sash and parted the fabric, gliding his hand back up the curves of her body, pausing to palm her generous breasts. He ducked his head to kiss her neck, teasing the delicate skin near the hollow of her throat with his teeth. Nibbling a trail back up, he bit the bottom of her ear and whispered, “Get in the middle of the bed.”
The noise she made-a breathy little moan-sent a corresponding thrill down his spine. He sat back enough for her to wiggle out from underneath him and crawl towards the head of the bed. She cast a glance at him over her shoulder and arched her back, sticking her arse into the air.
“Is this what you want from me, Harry?” There was heat in her eyes, but a distinct bitterness in her voice. “Is this what you've missed so much?”
Harry followed her to the middle of the bed. “No,” he said solemnly, peeling her dressing gown off her shoulders and dropping a soft kiss to the nape of her neck. He maneuvered her onto her back and settled himself on top of her, his hips in the space between her modestly parted legs. “I miss you. This--” his hand traveled the length of her body, slipping between her legs to cup her mound, “--is just a perk.”
Her breath hitched as he begins to rub, and he could feel her wetness begin to seep through the lace of her knickers. He lowered his head to kiss the swell of her breasts, biting gently-just enough so that he left a faint red mark behind, but not enough to cause actual pain.
“You've got--” she said, gasping as his fingers slipped inside her knickers and traced the length of her slit, “--a funny way of saying you want me for more than my body.”
His fingers probed deeper, sliding between her folds and seeking out her clit. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked against her skin.
A broken laugh. “Fuck no.”
He didn't continue playing with her clit, though he loved the way she writhed beneath him when he did. He wanted to make her come, he was going to make her come, but he wanted to take it slow. It was a dramatic change from how they usually fucked-hard and fast and fucking raunchy-but if he couldn't properly express how he felt with words, he'd try to do it with actions.
He abandoned her breasts and kissed a line down her stomach, loving the way the muscles tensed below his lips, until he was between her legs, sucking the damp crotch of her knickers into his mouth, tasting the tangy sweetness of her arousal that has soaked through the fabric.
When his hands hooked around the elastic waistline, he felt her entire body tense.
Her voice was quieter than normal, almost nervous. “You don't have to do that.”
Harry rested his cheek against her thigh and brought one hand down to idly stroke her swollen lips through the thin piece of lace. “But I want to.”
He could hear her breathing heavily, but didn't look up, instead focusing on his fingers as they played. He didn't want to push too hard, knowing this would be a big step for them. In all their time together, she'd never once let him go down on her, always squirming out of his grip and mumbling excuses about it being 'too intimate.' But now he knew that he wanted that sort of intimacy with her, and he needed to let her know it.
When she didn't answer, he buried his face between her legs and inhaled. She laughed, though it sounded uncertain. He made sure that his appreciative moan was loud enough for her to hear. “I want to taste you. My god, Pansy. You smell so good.”
A resolute exhale came from above, and then her hips lifted off the bed in silent permission. Harry wanted to shout hallelujah, but maintained his composure as he peeled off her knickers and got his first, unhurried look at her naked cunt in far too long. She was beautiful: slick pink folds, swollen and glistening in the dim light of the bedroom, bracketed by flawless, creamy white thighs. He parted her lips with his fingers and leaned forward, sticking out the tip of his tongue to swirl around her clit.
Although she moaned, he could still feel the tension in her muscles, the self-consciousness in her reaction. He soldiered on, eating her out with reverence, moaning and humming appreciatively as he buried his face between her legs.
Slowly, she started to relax, and even began a series of tiny but encouraging hip rolls. But it wasn't until he slipped two fingers inside and began to slowly fuck her with his hand that she unfurled completely, like a flower blooming into life after a long, cold winter. Embarrassment forgotten, her thighs inched further and further apart until she was opened wide for him.
Harry's face was completely covered in her wetness; he could feel it on his cheek, his chin, his nose. But he didn't care. He'd gladly have bathed in it had she asked, anything for proof that she'd finally let him do this. Every one of his senses was overwhelmed by her: the way she tasted, the way she felt, the way she smelled, and sounded, and looked. He was having trouble breathing, but didn't let that distract him. He just took another deep breath and sucked harder on her clit, encouraged and out of his mind aroused by the way she was now shamelessly trying to hump his face, feet pressed flat against the mattress and hips in the air.
His cock was painfully hard, stuck between his stomach and the bed. He almost thought he could come just from this, untouched and rutting against the mattress, his head trapped between her surprisingly strong thighs. When her hand settled of the back of his head, her fingers curling through his hair and pulling his face against her harder, he worried that he actually might.
But her breathing soon became erratic and her legs began to shake. The constant grind of her hips turned jerky, and her bare moans formed into broken 'almost-theres' and 'just-like-thats.' Her entire body seized when she finally came. He felt the muscles inside her pulse as her taste exploded on his tongue. But still, he didn't relent. He ignored the burning need for oxygen and lapped up her tangy, sticky arousal until her body relaxed and she sank into the mattress, utterly spent.
He pressed a final kiss to the inside of each of her thighs, and crawled on top of her, covering her body with his own.
“You're sticky,” she said, wrinkling her nose. He mumbled an apology and moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but she sat up quickly and grabbed his face, dragging her tongue over his chin and up his cheek. Settling back against the pillows, she smirked. “I do taste good.”
Harry's heart felt just a little bit lighter.
“You know who else tastes really good?” she asked, her grin turning feral. Her hand shot out with a sniper's precision to grab his cock through his trousers. “You.”
A moan tried to escape him, but he swallowed it back as best he could. It took every ounce of self-control he had to push her hands away as she reached for his fly.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He leaned down to nuzzle her neck. “Don't you see what I'm trying to say? This isn't about sex, this is about you, and it’s about the fact that I love you. I just wanted to make you feel good. I want to make you happy. ”
She laughed, a high-pitched assault to the ears that made Harry's heart swell to hear. Her hands snaked around his neck, pulling him on top of her.
“Oh, Harry,” she said, lifting her head to kiss him. “There's no need to play the sexual martyr. I knew that months ago. Of course you were in love with me; it's me we're talking about. You were the one who needed to figure it out. And I knew I was going to take you back the moment you showed up on my doorstep, looking like someone'd just kicked your puppy. I love you, you stupid arsehole. I just wanted to watch you sweat it out a bit.”
Harry's jaw dropped, and she laughed again, sitting up enough that she could bite his lower lip. “And you deserved a good smacking while I was at it,” she added. “Teach you to try and break my heart next time.”
Harry stared at her in disbelief. “What about Seaworthy?”
“What about him? He's a nice bloke, easy on the eyes, but he's not you.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Made you jealous though, didn't it? My plan worked to perfection,” she preened.
Plan? She'd had a plan? Was it just to make him jealous, or was it larger than that? “You didn't cast any spells on me recently, did you?”
She looked at him like he was utterly daft for a moment. “No, but I can if you want me to.” She grinned, pushing him onto his back. She straddled his hips and reached for belt. “Have you ever heard of consensual Imperio? Just think about it, Harry, one flick of my wand and I could turn you into my mindless little fucktoy. Or--” she shrugged, “you could do it to me. Either way.”
Harry groaned, thinking that he did, in fact, love Pansy Parkinson. Very fucking much.
***
Pansy tapped her toe nervously as they stood in front of the heavy, wooden door. With his hand on the small of her back, Harry bent down and whispered, “Are you ready?”
She bit her lip, looking up at him. “Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck, I don't know. This was a bad idea. What was I thinking? Being secretive is fun. It's sexy! We should really reconsider. Going public is overrated anyway.”
Instead of responding, Harry just gave her a look. There was no way he was going to letting her off the hook, not after the hell he'd gone through over this.
“Oh, fine,” she huffed. “Have it your way. Are we even sure that someone from the Prophet is in there?”
“I called in the anonymous tip this morning, just like you told me to. There will be at least one reporter, if not more, inside already.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I'm too clever for my own good. And have I mentioned how much I fucking hate the Leaky Cauldron? Couldn't we just have arranged to be caught in flagrante at some big Minstry event? That would have been so much more glamorous.”
“We're doing it like this precisely because it's not glamorous, or scandalous, or any other sort of '-ous.' It's precisely what we talked about, what you said you wanted.”
“What I wanted was to be the Minister's wife,” she grumbled.
“I might never be the Minister of Magic, but I am incredibly famous.”
“You are that.” She gave him a begrudging smile. “And you're also filthy rich.”
“Don't forget devastatingly handsome.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don't know about devastatingly, but I wouldn't kick you out of bed.”
Harry made a noise of mock outrage. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him. “You couldn't kick me out of bed if you tried.”
“Only because I'm so dainty and delicate, and you're a hunkering brute.”
His hands traveled down her backside, squeezing her arse. “Delicate is a word that shouldn't even be in your vocabulary. And no one who snores as loudly as you do can be described as dainty.”
“Oh, Harry,” she said sweetly, staring up at him with adoration in her eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”
He leaned in, rubbing his nose against hers. “Only if you do first.”
She laughed, and pushed him away. “My god, we're repulsive.” Straightening up, she turned back to the pub's entrance. “I guess we'd better get this over with then. Are you sure you wouldn't rather get caught giving it to me hard at the Ministry Christmas party? It seems so much more our style.”
Harry opened the door, giving her a gentle shove through it. “Stop stalling, you brat.”
Saturday nights at the Leaky were always busy, and no one seemed to notice them enter. The room was crowded, dark, and noisy.
“Brat?” Pansy called over her shoulder. “What are you going to do about it, Harry? Spank me?”
Harry detected the slight edge to her voice. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Only if you're good.” He led her to the center of the barroom, where they would be visible to any and all who happened to look in their direction. “Ready?”
Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. “Ready.”
It was the same every time they kissed, the world around them just seemed to slip away. Harry could vaguely hear the room go quiet, followed by excited chatter and the bright flash of light from a reporter's camera. He focused on the slick glide of Pansy's lips against his own, the overwhelming sensation of 'rightness' he felt when she was in his arms. He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.
“Welcome to the front pages.”
He could feel her grin against his lips. “Bring it on.”
-----
For the Love of Pansy (Round 1) Masterlist