Revenge by Any Other Name (Where One Tells) - Harry/Pansy - 8/?
Series Title: Revenge by Any Other Name
Chapter Title: Where One Tells (8/?)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry/Pansy
Prompt: #08 - Weeks
Word Count: 1820
Rating: PG/PG-13
Summary: Harry finally tells the truth.
A/N: The Harry/Pansy Table
Harry walked into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place to see Hermione already at work. She sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by open books and her usual notepad to jot down ideas, theories, and plans of attack. One hand wrote feverishly on a blank page in her notebook while the other held onto a half-eaten blueberry muffin.
Harry shook his head as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard on his way to the refrigerator. “I’m starting to think you never sleep,” he teased as he poured himself a cup of juice.
Hermione responded with a shrug, taking a bite from her muffin. She swallowed before asking, “How was last night?”
Harry took a seat across from her at the table. “Fine.” he smirked as he continued, “And just so you know, Ron did his job. I lost track of how many times he asked if I were okay.”
Hermione looked a bit sheepish. “Perhaps that’s some of my doing.”
Harry grinned. “Or all of your doing?”
“It’s not my fault you worry me at times,” she countered in her defense. “I figured you’d open up more if you were…” She trailed off with a shrug.
“Drunk off my ass?” he replied, raising an amused eyebrow.
“Inebriated, yes,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. She returned to her research, tapping her pen against her lips. “You at least seem in a better mood this morning than when you left last night.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he is,” Ron said as he stepped into the kitchen. He gave Harry a knowing smirk as he took the empty seat next to Hermione, snagging her muffin she had let rest on the table.
Hermione looked up, curious, and raised an eyebrow as the two men shared a look across the table. “What am I missing here?”
“Harry has a girlfriend,” Ron replied around a mouthful of muffin.
Harry rolled his eyes as Hermione turned her full attention to him. “I didn’t realize you were dating someone.”
“Probably because I’m not,” Harry sighed before turning back to Ron. “Last night wasn’t what you think.”
“Again,” Hermione said, glancing between the two of them, “I’m lost.”
“That was my informant you heard,” he explained to a still-grinning Ron. “We thought we were about to be attacked. I told her to hide, but when she recognized your voice…” He shrugged. “Well, she apparently decided embarrassing me would be the best way to get rid of you.”
“Wait,” Hermione interrupted before Ron could respond, “your informant recognized Ron’s voice?”
Harry blinked, shifting in his seat as he watched the pieces start to click together for Hermione. “What?” he asked dumbly.
“You said she recognized Ron’s voice. Which either means she’s heard his voice some random place before. Or she knows us,” she replied, Ron now more intent on listening to her building theory than to make more jabs at Harry. “Now, I usually don’t pry into these matters, Harry, but you’ve been very secretive about this informant since day one.”
“Not secretive,” he replied. “Just safe.”
Hermione shrugged. “Either way, you’ve been more closed-lipped about this informant than any other we’ve ever had.” She paused, closing up her notebook. “Harry, I know you’ve told us not to be concerned about it before, but who is this informant of yours?”
Harry sighed, sitting back in his chair. It had been weeks since he had started lying to his friends, and though he hated it, it seemed a necessary evil at the time. He knew they wouldn’t understand having Pansy as a reliable source. Hell, if they had asked him a few weeks ago, even he would have laughed at the idea.
But things were different now. Pansy had proven herself to be a dependable source of information, even going as far as to save the lives of two of his friends. He had no reason to doubt her anymore, to doubt her actions.
He couldn’t believe he was even thinking these words, but he actually trusted the woman.
Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s Pansy.”
Ron choked on the bit of muffin he had been eating.
Hermione blinked at him.
Harry decided to clear his throat.
“Pansy…. Parkinson?” Hermione finally managed to ask.
“Yeah, that’d be her.”
Ron continued to gape at him. “I only say this because, well, because I’m your friend… But have you gone completely mental?!”
“No, I haven’t.” He sat forward, folding his arms across the surface of the table. “Look, I realize that Pansy probably seems like the worst person to be associating with at the moment….”
“Well, sure, maybe after You-Know-Who himself,” Ron scoffed.
“These past few months? She’s given me information that has even kept you guys out of harm’s way,” Harry continued, ignoring Ron’s sarcastic remark. “Besides, she’s this close to helping us find the last horcrux.”
Hermione held her skeptical expression. “And what, may I ask, does she stand to gain from this whole thing?”
Harry shrugged. “Revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“Voldemort killed Malfoy.”
“Well, let me shed a bloody tear over that loss,” Ron muttered with a roll of his eyes. “I still don’t understand why we need Pansy’s help with all this.”
Hermione exhaled deeply, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Because she provides us with an inside look at the workings of the Death Eaters,” she replied in the same tone she used to review the basics of a difficult spell. “She can obviously put us one step ahead of every move they make.”
Harry stared at her, amazed that she was actually agreeing to this situation so easily.
“You agree with this?!” Ron asked, vocalizing the shock both he and Harry were presently feeling.
“No, I don’t agree,” she replied quickly. “I just… Harry’s never lead us wrong before, and if he trusts Parkinson, then…. Well, then so be it.” She paused, her lips curling into a frown. “You really don’t trust her, do you?” she asked, a hopeful hitch in her voice.
“Yeah, I do.”
“And she’s really getting closer to the horcrux search than we are?”
“Seems that way,” he replied with a nod. “I’ll definitely be able to say after our meeting this week.”
Ron sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Just because you trust her doesn’t mean we have to, you know.”
“I know,” Harry nodded. “I don’t expect you to really. I mean, she is Pansy Parkinson after all.”
Ron shook his head in disgust. “I don’t know what’s worse--having Parkinson as the informant or having you fancy her.”
Harry’s mouth dropped. “I don’t fancy her. You lot asked if my informant was pretty, and I answered. It was a bloody subjective question.”
“Whatever, mate.”
Hermione sighed and opened her notebook back to the page she had previously been working on. “You two are not allowed to go out drinking ever again.”
Harry watched in amusement as Ron formed a protest to that, to which Hermione replied with her usual scolding tone. So intent on their new argument, neither noticed when Harry excused himself from the table to find a bit of peace and quiet.
----------
Pansy cinched her robe tightly around her middle as she padded through the halls of the mansion towards the study. She had left Blaise still curled under the covers as she slid out of the bed.
He had returned home an hour after she had arrived back from Potter’s. Lying in bed, feigning sleep, her mind her been cluttered with thoughts about what had just happened at Potter’s flat. Blaise had been none the wiser as she had sat up in bed and greeted him with a perfectly staged sleepy voice, asking how the meeting had gone. A kiss had silenced her questions, and he had quickly done away with her clothes and his before she could even think of asking anything more.
And, unfortunately for Pansy’s sanity, those thoughts on Potter that had been cluttering her mind continued as her husband had touched her.
She always knew that Potter had a hero complex. It came with being the Boy Who Lived. But she had never expected to experience his concern firsthand. For all he had known, there could have been a dozen Death Eaters on his doorstep, looking to destroy him in ways he could never imagine. He could have just as easily made her stand ground with him, fight the battle she had obviously brought to his doorstep, but instead? He had demanded she put herself out of harm’s way--at the risk of his own life.
And it shook her more than she cared to admit.
To have him show that sort of self sacrifice and concern for her.
They weren’t friends. Hell, they were barely allies, and yet, he had still cared about her safety first and foremost.
Pansy tried to shake off any lingering thoughts about Potter as she pushed open the door to the study. She walked over to Blaise’s cluttered desk, taking a seat in his cushy leather chair. With a tilt of her head, she investigated the papers sitting on top of the desk. Maps of countryside locations. Collected data about hostages. General mission paperwork.
Pansy growled a bit under her breath, cursing her husband’s horrible sense of organization, before her fingers slid across the paper for which she had been searching. A slow smile spread across her lips as she studied the paper that began with a list of needed items for the spell and ended with instructions on how to cast it properly.
Staring down at the paper in her hands, she felt a sudden pang of guilt in her gut. By taking this one slip of paper, she could easily set her husband’s work back days. However long it would take for him to procure another copy of the information--if there even was another readily available source of the information in the first place.
She had been betraying Blaise for weeks now, but this was suddenly very different from everything else she had been doing. Helping Potter do research, sitting in a cramped room reading through dusty books, was one thing, but to physically take something from her husband’s possession and willingly place it in the hands of Harry Potter?
That set her betrayal in stone.
Swallowing hard, Pansy made her decision and folded up the sheet of paper before slipping it into the pocket of her robe. She pushed the remaining papers on the desk back into their unorganized spots, giving the desk its proper disheveled look. Pushing back from the desk, she started out of the study, taking note of the time on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.
She frowned as she realized Blaise would be waking soon.
And he would roll over to greet his adoring wife, his trusted companion.
And Pansy would be there, smiling sweetly and playing the role he perceived of her.
Chapter Title: Where One Tells (8/?)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry/Pansy
Prompt: #08 - Weeks
Word Count: 1820
Rating: PG/PG-13
Summary: Harry finally tells the truth.
A/N: The Harry/Pansy Table
Harry walked into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place to see Hermione already at work. She sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by open books and her usual notepad to jot down ideas, theories, and plans of attack. One hand wrote feverishly on a blank page in her notebook while the other held onto a half-eaten blueberry muffin.
Harry shook his head as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard on his way to the refrigerator. “I’m starting to think you never sleep,” he teased as he poured himself a cup of juice.
Hermione responded with a shrug, taking a bite from her muffin. She swallowed before asking, “How was last night?”
Harry took a seat across from her at the table. “Fine.” he smirked as he continued, “And just so you know, Ron did his job. I lost track of how many times he asked if I were okay.”
Hermione looked a bit sheepish. “Perhaps that’s some of my doing.”
Harry grinned. “Or all of your doing?”
“It’s not my fault you worry me at times,” she countered in her defense. “I figured you’d open up more if you were…” She trailed off with a shrug.
“Drunk off my ass?” he replied, raising an amused eyebrow.
“Inebriated, yes,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. She returned to her research, tapping her pen against her lips. “You at least seem in a better mood this morning than when you left last night.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he is,” Ron said as he stepped into the kitchen. He gave Harry a knowing smirk as he took the empty seat next to Hermione, snagging her muffin she had let rest on the table.
Hermione looked up, curious, and raised an eyebrow as the two men shared a look across the table. “What am I missing here?”
“Harry has a girlfriend,” Ron replied around a mouthful of muffin.
Harry rolled his eyes as Hermione turned her full attention to him. “I didn’t realize you were dating someone.”
“Probably because I’m not,” Harry sighed before turning back to Ron. “Last night wasn’t what you think.”
“Again,” Hermione said, glancing between the two of them, “I’m lost.”
“That was my informant you heard,” he explained to a still-grinning Ron. “We thought we were about to be attacked. I told her to hide, but when she recognized your voice…” He shrugged. “Well, she apparently decided embarrassing me would be the best way to get rid of you.”
“Wait,” Hermione interrupted before Ron could respond, “your informant recognized Ron’s voice?”
Harry blinked, shifting in his seat as he watched the pieces start to click together for Hermione. “What?” he asked dumbly.
“You said she recognized Ron’s voice. Which either means she’s heard his voice some random place before. Or she knows us,” she replied, Ron now more intent on listening to her building theory than to make more jabs at Harry. “Now, I usually don’t pry into these matters, Harry, but you’ve been very secretive about this informant since day one.”
“Not secretive,” he replied. “Just safe.”
Hermione shrugged. “Either way, you’ve been more closed-lipped about this informant than any other we’ve ever had.” She paused, closing up her notebook. “Harry, I know you’ve told us not to be concerned about it before, but who is this informant of yours?”
Harry sighed, sitting back in his chair. It had been weeks since he had started lying to his friends, and though he hated it, it seemed a necessary evil at the time. He knew they wouldn’t understand having Pansy as a reliable source. Hell, if they had asked him a few weeks ago, even he would have laughed at the idea.
But things were different now. Pansy had proven herself to be a dependable source of information, even going as far as to save the lives of two of his friends. He had no reason to doubt her anymore, to doubt her actions.
He couldn’t believe he was even thinking these words, but he actually trusted the woman.
Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s Pansy.”
Ron choked on the bit of muffin he had been eating.
Hermione blinked at him.
Harry decided to clear his throat.
“Pansy…. Parkinson?” Hermione finally managed to ask.
“Yeah, that’d be her.”
Ron continued to gape at him. “I only say this because, well, because I’m your friend… But have you gone completely mental?!”
“No, I haven’t.” He sat forward, folding his arms across the surface of the table. “Look, I realize that Pansy probably seems like the worst person to be associating with at the moment….”
“Well, sure, maybe after You-Know-Who himself,” Ron scoffed.
“These past few months? She’s given me information that has even kept you guys out of harm’s way,” Harry continued, ignoring Ron’s sarcastic remark. “Besides, she’s this close to helping us find the last horcrux.”
Hermione held her skeptical expression. “And what, may I ask, does she stand to gain from this whole thing?”
Harry shrugged. “Revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“Voldemort killed Malfoy.”
“Well, let me shed a bloody tear over that loss,” Ron muttered with a roll of his eyes. “I still don’t understand why we need Pansy’s help with all this.”
Hermione exhaled deeply, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Because she provides us with an inside look at the workings of the Death Eaters,” she replied in the same tone she used to review the basics of a difficult spell. “She can obviously put us one step ahead of every move they make.”
Harry stared at her, amazed that she was actually agreeing to this situation so easily.
“You agree with this?!” Ron asked, vocalizing the shock both he and Harry were presently feeling.
“No, I don’t agree,” she replied quickly. “I just… Harry’s never lead us wrong before, and if he trusts Parkinson, then…. Well, then so be it.” She paused, her lips curling into a frown. “You really don’t trust her, do you?” she asked, a hopeful hitch in her voice.
“Yeah, I do.”
“And she’s really getting closer to the horcrux search than we are?”
“Seems that way,” he replied with a nod. “I’ll definitely be able to say after our meeting this week.”
Ron sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Just because you trust her doesn’t mean we have to, you know.”
“I know,” Harry nodded. “I don’t expect you to really. I mean, she is Pansy Parkinson after all.”
Ron shook his head in disgust. “I don’t know what’s worse--having Parkinson as the informant or having you fancy her.”
Harry’s mouth dropped. “I don’t fancy her. You lot asked if my informant was pretty, and I answered. It was a bloody subjective question.”
“Whatever, mate.”
Hermione sighed and opened her notebook back to the page she had previously been working on. “You two are not allowed to go out drinking ever again.”
Harry watched in amusement as Ron formed a protest to that, to which Hermione replied with her usual scolding tone. So intent on their new argument, neither noticed when Harry excused himself from the table to find a bit of peace and quiet.
----------
Pansy cinched her robe tightly around her middle as she padded through the halls of the mansion towards the study. She had left Blaise still curled under the covers as she slid out of the bed.
He had returned home an hour after she had arrived back from Potter’s. Lying in bed, feigning sleep, her mind her been cluttered with thoughts about what had just happened at Potter’s flat. Blaise had been none the wiser as she had sat up in bed and greeted him with a perfectly staged sleepy voice, asking how the meeting had gone. A kiss had silenced her questions, and he had quickly done away with her clothes and his before she could even think of asking anything more.
And, unfortunately for Pansy’s sanity, those thoughts on Potter that had been cluttering her mind continued as her husband had touched her.
She always knew that Potter had a hero complex. It came with being the Boy Who Lived. But she had never expected to experience his concern firsthand. For all he had known, there could have been a dozen Death Eaters on his doorstep, looking to destroy him in ways he could never imagine. He could have just as easily made her stand ground with him, fight the battle she had obviously brought to his doorstep, but instead? He had demanded she put herself out of harm’s way--at the risk of his own life.
And it shook her more than she cared to admit.
To have him show that sort of self sacrifice and concern for her.
They weren’t friends. Hell, they were barely allies, and yet, he had still cared about her safety first and foremost.
Pansy tried to shake off any lingering thoughts about Potter as she pushed open the door to the study. She walked over to Blaise’s cluttered desk, taking a seat in his cushy leather chair. With a tilt of her head, she investigated the papers sitting on top of the desk. Maps of countryside locations. Collected data about hostages. General mission paperwork.
Pansy growled a bit under her breath, cursing her husband’s horrible sense of organization, before her fingers slid across the paper for which she had been searching. A slow smile spread across her lips as she studied the paper that began with a list of needed items for the spell and ended with instructions on how to cast it properly.
Staring down at the paper in her hands, she felt a sudden pang of guilt in her gut. By taking this one slip of paper, she could easily set her husband’s work back days. However long it would take for him to procure another copy of the information--if there even was another readily available source of the information in the first place.
She had been betraying Blaise for weeks now, but this was suddenly very different from everything else she had been doing. Helping Potter do research, sitting in a cramped room reading through dusty books, was one thing, but to physically take something from her husband’s possession and willingly place it in the hands of Harry Potter?
That set her betrayal in stone.
Swallowing hard, Pansy made her decision and folded up the sheet of paper before slipping it into the pocket of her robe. She pushed the remaining papers on the desk back into their unorganized spots, giving the desk its proper disheveled look. Pushing back from the desk, she started out of the study, taking note of the time on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.
She frowned as she realized Blaise would be waking soon.
And he would roll over to greet his adoring wife, his trusted companion.
And Pansy would be there, smiling sweetly and playing the role he perceived of her.