I want to reconcile the violence in your heart...
Since being released from her bi-monthly parole meetings at the Ministry, Pansy had begun to relish having the freedom to do whatever she liked, whenever she liked. No longer was she forced to tell a barely-literate Ministry employee with whom she’d conversed, where she had gone, why she’d withdrawn sums of money from her Gringotts accounts -- she was free.
At least, for the most part. It was the holiday season, and she had obligations to fulfill. As much as she would have liked to spend Christmas and the New Year at Azay-le-Rideau, her social calendar had been filled months prior. The entire month of December was a whirlwind of teas, balls, and other society events.
It was why she was in a private dressing room at the Delacour workshop, eyeing herself critically in the mirror. Edward, damn him to the seven layers of Hell, had requested her presence on New Year’s Eve. And Pansy, being the good Samaritan she was, had accepted -- after the diamonds had arrived, of course.
The gown was stunning. But then again, Delacour gowns always were. Pansy tended to favor black or blue tones for evening formal wear, but Madame Delacour had coaxed her into trying something different. She wasn’t normally one for cap sleeves, but the green gown sparkled with her every move, and the cut of the back was perfection.
“Please give my compliments to Madame Delacour,” she said at long length, glancing up to catch the brunette woman’s gaze in the mirror. “She has outdone herself.”
“Merci.”
Pansy glanced up and a brow rose in surprise. “Madame, what a pleasant surprise. I was told you were still on maternity leave.”
Fleur smiled as she stepped into the spacious fitting area, brushing a hand over Marianne’s downy red hair as she slept away, nestled snug in her sling. “I ‘ave been restless at ‘ome, and I wanted to see ‘ow your gown was coming along.”
Pansy smiled in return -- a genuine, small smile. She liked the French designer, despite her bad taste in in-laws. “Quite nicely. I imagine it will be perfect.”
“You will be attending a fête for ze New Year, non?”
“Oui. Edward,” Pansy sniffed and crinkled her nose, “has quite the habit of demanding my presence when he suits him. He knows the right bribes, however, so I let him live and play along with his little game.”
Fleur laughed. “Monsieur Carmichael ‘as a certain je ne sais quoi.”
“Well, he likes to think he does.” Turning the conversation away from her faux corbeau, she said, “When will the dress be ready?”
Marie-Christine had her notes in Fleur’s hands before the blonde opened her mouth. Glancing down at what her assistant had written, she took in the details. “Your final fitting is on ze twenty-eighth. Eef there are no problems, we will deliver your gown on morning of ze thirtieth.” She glanced up at Pansy. “Unless you are needing it earlier?”
Pansy waved her hand. “The thirtieth will suffice.”
“Bien.” Handing the notes back to Marie-Christine, Fleur smiled and gave a slight nod to Pansy. “Then we will see you again on ze twenty-eighth, Miss Parkinson.” She crossed towards the small dias and leaned over, brushing air kisses on both of Pansy’s cheeks. “I ‘ope you ‘ave a very ‘appy Christmas.”
“The same to you, Madame Delacour, and...?” she glanced down at the babe nestled against Fleur’s chest, her fluffy red hair marking her forever as a Weasley.
“Marianne.”
“Ah. As in La Marianne?”
Fleur’s lips twitched. “Ze personification of La Liberté et la France, oui.”
“Very patriotic of you.” Pansy brushed her finger over the tiny nose and smiled. “She’s beautiful.”
“Merci. But we will not keep you any longer from your day. I am looking forward to seeing you again after ze ‘olidays.”
With a nod and a wave, Pansy watched as the designer left the room. Her assistant helped her out of the dress and left her to dress while she bustled the gown back to the design hall it was being stored at. She dressed quickly, slipping into her wool sweater dress and black boots before she doffed her fur-lined gloves and coat.
The December wind was icy as it blew down street. Pansy wasn’t often in Muggle London, but Delacour was one of the few design houses that catered to both wizards and Muggles. The closest Apparition point was several blocks away -- further proof that even nepotism was dead at the Ministry, since they had turned down a request to establish a separate point from Arthur Weasley’s daughter-in-law.
Perhaps she would take tea at the Savoy. It was only a little further up the street.
Having spent a couple enjoyable hours meandering through Selfridges, though he purchased very little, Lysander strolled through the London streets debating whether he wanted to make his way to Harrod’s or simply try again another day. There weren’t many people he’d be exchanging gifts with, but he liked to put a bit of thought in the exercise. He paused at the corner, eying the street sign in contemplation.
When the man in front of her stopped abruptly, Pansy’s lips pursed in displeasure as she stepped to the side -- avoiding plowing into his back. “Excuse me,” she said, brushing past him to step to the curb.
“Sorry,” he said absently, paying little attention to the woman passing by. It was only a split second later that he recognized her voice, the identity confirmed when he turned his eyes to her. “Pansy...”
She heard her name, but it took another few seconds before the voice who’d spoken registered in her mind. Pansy stilled. Her heart skipped a beat, forcing her to calm herself before she turned to face her might-have-been lover. “Lysander.”
They stared at one another for several long moments and Lysander contemplated a million things to say, trying to find one that wasn’t completely awkward. “You look well,” he settled on at last, his eyes taking in the rosy stain the winter air had left on her cheeks. It was lovely against the pale backdrop of her skin.
The breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding escaped her lips, forming a small cloud in the frigid December air. “As do you,” she said at length.
She didn’t know what else to say. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t imagined running into Lysander again -- because she had. But in her imagination, she was happy, loved, with someone else; a combination of all of the above. In her dreams, she wasn’t thirty and alone.
In her dreams, she didn’t miss him.
How was it that he’d become so adept at putting from his mind just how lovely she was and how every time they saw one another a visceral awareness pulled at him? Years of practice, he supposed. Arrogance of youth.
“Have you been shopping?” he asked after a moment, aware that the silence had lingered too long.
“After a fashion,” Pansy answered a beat later. “I had a fitting with Madame Delacour. She’s made my gown for the New Year.” Blue eyes flickered over his well-tailored coat; Lysander had always known how to dress. “And you?”
Lifting the small bag he carried, he smiled wryly. “You know I enjoy shopping, although I didn’t find very much today that caught my eye. I was just debating whether to try another store, but if you have the time it might be nice to grab a cup of coffee or something to eat?” She might very well turn him down. They had not parted on good terms, but Lysander had a long history with Pansy. If such a thing was possible, he’d prefer to have some kind of relationship with her.
She paused for a moment, considering. Their shared history weighed heavily on her like a mantle; all the years of almost, not now, I can’t give you that. Did she want to revisit that familiar path, one that she knew -- for certain -- lead to nothing but heartache? Common sense told her no, but that part of her brain was often silenced when it came to her heart.
“Coffee would be lovely.”
“Wonderful.” Extending his arm for her to take, Lysander waited for Pansy’s slender fingers to curl around his forearm before starting them in the direction of a little coffee house down the road. “So, what worthy cause has won your attendance on New Year’s Eve? Or are you just going to a particularly fantastic party?”
“A combination of the two, I imagine,” she said lightly as Lysander steered them through the throngs of people crowding the London sidewalk. “Edward has again failed in procuring a date with his charm and charisma, so I’m doing a bit of charity work.”
“A common problem for Carmichael, I’ve heard,” Lysander returned with a grin. “It’s why he’s such a viper in business - making up for his shortcomings in other areas.” He had no such intel, but Edward Carmichael was much like Julian, and men such as his friend all needed a dose of humility whenever it could be forced upon them. “It’s good of you to take pity on him. He couldn’t have hoped to get half such a lovely companion on his own merits alone.”
“No, he could not.” Pansy’s gaze flickered up to glance at Lysander as she did her best to ignore the way that smile made her stomachs liquify like those of a third year in the throes of her first infatuation. Too much time had passed to travel down that path once more. “And you?” she asked, her voice deceptively neutral. “Have you plans for an evening of debauchery with Mr. Vaisey again?”
Lysander chuckled, shaking his head as he held the door to the coffee shop for his companion. “More like we’ll watch the debauchery. I fear Vaisey and I are becoming old men. We’ll drink expensive spirits and get doted on by showgirls paid to make us feel special. It’s a very sad state, don’t you think?”
“Positively depressing,” she replied. “But I suppose it’s an improvement on spending the evening with his twin progenies.”
“Yes. They’re fairly well behaved for small children, but hardly the company one wants on a night meant for celebration.” Ideally, the company for a night of celebration would be a warm, beautiful woman, but Lysander had reconciled himself to the absence of that, unless he wanted to bed one of Julian’s employees. It wouldn’t be the first time, but neither was it something he cared to make a habit of.
“Oh, I’m sure your showgirls will dote no matter what sort of company you keep,” Pansy commented lightly as she stepped up to the coffee counter. Truth be told, she didn’t care to think of a slag burlesque dancer putting her hands all over Lysander. But on the other hand, if that was the sort of company he preferred to keep (he didn’t prefer to keep in your company, her pesky inner voice reminded her), then he was welcome to it.
“No doubt, but I imagine their mother would not appreciate the environment, and there are limits to just how far I can delude myself into believing a woman is showing interest because she’s actually interested and not just because my friend pays her wages.” And he was too big an idiot to take advantage of true affection when it was offered, but that went unsaid for now.
They placed their orders and moved to a free table to wait for them. Studying his former flame, Lysander’s lips curled. “You really do look beautiful, Pans. I don’t know why it always takes me by surprise just how gorgeous you are.”
Pansy’s gaze flickered up to meet his, but she didn’t say anything. A long moment passed in silence as a thousand different retorts raced through her mind, ranging from Kindly go jump off the nearest cliff to And you’re still as handsome as ever.
“Neither do I,” she said finally, a hint of regret in her voice. “But thank you.”
The twist of his lips was wry, but Lysander’s dark eyes held chagrin. He knew he’d treated her poorly, most than once, in his attempt to stay an adolescent. It was something he and Julian had fed in each other, that shunning of serious commitment, but his friend had been bitten in the arse by fate and now Lysander was a child on his own. “Is there a bloke properly appreciating your loveliness these days?”
“No.” It wasn’t entirely true, of course. Gabriel was a welcome distraction whenever she was in France, but keeping a lover was hardly the same as a proper partner. He helped to ease the loneliness at night, but that was the entirety of their liaison.
“That’s a shame. There ought to be.” He shouldn’t even be contemplating it. It was an invitation to be hexed in the bollocks. Twice. Still, he couldn’t stop the next words from coming out. “Perhaps you’d consider letting me audition for the part sometime.”
Her blue eyes flashed with emotion, the only outward hint to the sudden onslaught of emotions his words brought to the forefront. It was testimony to her restraint that her voice was even, her tone cool as she replied, “I seem to recall you making your thoughts on the position perfectly clear last we spoke of it.”
He didn’t deny the charge. When she’d asked him his intentions so long ago, he hadn’t had any. While he’d tried not to lead Pansy on, it became very clear that whether he intended it or not, that’s what he’d done. Lysander couldn’t blame her for being wary.
“I spent a very long time trying to keep from growing up, Pans. I was good at it. Things change. That’s not what I want anymore.”
She leveled him with a long, appraising look. Her mind was racing with a million questions, and it took her a few moments before she finally settled on one.
“Why?” she asked. “Tell me why I should give you another chance.” She had already spent enough time having her emotions strung out by Lysander Montague. She had no intentions of putting her heart out there again for anything less than everything.
Lysander’s lips twisted and he shrugged. “It has come to my attention that I’m thirty-one years old. I’d rather not turn into one of those middle-aged blokes trying to recapture his youth. I’ve always wanted a family one day. It’s only recently occurred to me that ‘one day’ is coming on a lot sooner than I’d realized.”
Dark eyes met the ice blue ones turned on him. “As for why you... It’s always been you, Pansy. No one else draws me the way you do. I know it’s the same for you. As stupid as I’ve been, as badly as I hurt you, you still can’t say no when I want you near.”
His words were like a hex to the heart. “This sounds a bit like an abusive relationship,” she commented, her tone like ice. She inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring slightly as she mulled her words carefully. “You were the first man I ever loved, Lysander, but you have hurt me. Badly.”
She’d cried over him. As hard as she’d tried, she’d never forgotten the feeling of despair she’d felt when he’d walked out.
The slight clench of his jaw was the only outward sign of his ire before a careful mask slid into place. He was willing to be honest about difficulty he’d had maturing to a point where he was ready to consider a serious relationship. He could own that he’d hurt her. None of his failings were malicious though. The things he’d done had never been intentional, but he was human and he had flaws. Maybe more than other men, he wasn’t in a place to judge that sort of thing.
“I certainly never intended for you to feel abused, Pansy,” he returned, his voice even and unemotional. “Nor would I expect you to tie yourself to someone you viewed in such a way. My apologies for taking your time. I wish you all the best.” With a nod, he rose to leave.
She was reaching for his hand before she’d even realized what she was doing, half out of her seat. “Lysander, wait.”
Glancing at the petite hand grasping his own, Lysander stopped his progress and looked at Pansy with a raised brow. “Why? If you believe I’m some kind of monster, this is a poor choice for both of us.”
“I don’t believe you’re a monster, Lysander. That was a poor choice of phrasing.” His expression was unchanging, so she dropped his hand and settled back into her seat.
He stood for a moment, debating whether to stay or go, whether it was his heart or his pride that was most wounded by her words. They’d done the bit where one of them walked away enough, though. If he was going to call himself an adult, he’d have to stay and sort through this, one way or another. Finally, he returned to his chair. “What do you think of me, then?”
Pansy released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I think that your statement that I can’t say no to you no matter what wounded my pride,” she said finally.
Nodding, he reached out and took her hand. “I think we’ve spent too long concerning ourselves with our pride, don’t you? It hasn’t brought us happiness. I’ve discovered that pride and vanity don’t do a very good job of keeping me warm at night.”
“No, they don’t.” Her gaze flickered down to their clasped hands, then back to his dark eyes. “So where do we go from here?”
“In a few days it will be a new year. Seems like a good time for a fresh start, yes?” The holiday would keep them both busy in the meantime, it just made sense to wait for the flurry of activity to pass. “Then I can take you out on a proper date, and we’ll discuss it. In the meantime, it’s been far too long since I’ve done this...” he said, then leaned across the table to capture Pansy’s ruby lips.
His kiss only caught her by surprise for a split second before she leaned closer and kissed him in return. They were different people than the two teenagers snogging on a spring day at Hogwarts, but the press of his lips against hers was achingly familiar.
Lysander didn’t push too far, not this first time, but it was nice to finally do what he’d never really been able to forget. When he pulled back, his hand coming up to cradle her face, he smiled, asking, “In the new year, then?”
Her lips curled in a smile to match his own. “I’ll expect your owl on New Year’s Day, mind.”
“As the lady wishes,” he agreed.
Summary: Lysander and Pansy meet for the first time in a year.
At least, for the most part. It was the holiday season, and she had obligations to fulfill. As much as she would have liked to spend Christmas and the New Year at Azay-le-Rideau, her social calendar had been filled months prior. The entire month of December was a whirlwind of teas, balls, and other society events.
It was why she was in a private dressing room at the Delacour workshop, eyeing herself critically in the mirror. Edward, damn him to the seven layers of Hell, had requested her presence on New Year’s Eve. And Pansy, being the good Samaritan she was, had accepted -- after the diamonds had arrived, of course.
The gown was stunning. But then again, Delacour gowns always were. Pansy tended to favor black or blue tones for evening formal wear, but Madame Delacour had coaxed her into trying something different. She wasn’t normally one for cap sleeves, but the green gown sparkled with her every move, and the cut of the back was perfection.
“Please give my compliments to Madame Delacour,” she said at long length, glancing up to catch the brunette woman’s gaze in the mirror. “She has outdone herself.”
“Merci.”
Pansy glanced up and a brow rose in surprise. “Madame, what a pleasant surprise. I was told you were still on maternity leave.”
Fleur smiled as she stepped into the spacious fitting area, brushing a hand over Marianne’s downy red hair as she slept away, nestled snug in her sling. “I ‘ave been restless at ‘ome, and I wanted to see ‘ow your gown was coming along.”
Pansy smiled in return -- a genuine, small smile. She liked the French designer, despite her bad taste in in-laws. “Quite nicely. I imagine it will be perfect.”
“You will be attending a fête for ze New Year, non?”
“Oui. Edward,” Pansy sniffed and crinkled her nose, “has quite the habit of demanding my presence when he suits him. He knows the right bribes, however, so I let him live and play along with his little game.”
Fleur laughed. “Monsieur Carmichael ‘as a certain je ne sais quoi.”
“Well, he likes to think he does.” Turning the conversation away from her faux corbeau, she said, “When will the dress be ready?”
Marie-Christine had her notes in Fleur’s hands before the blonde opened her mouth. Glancing down at what her assistant had written, she took in the details. “Your final fitting is on ze twenty-eighth. Eef there are no problems, we will deliver your gown on morning of ze thirtieth.” She glanced up at Pansy. “Unless you are needing it earlier?”
Pansy waved her hand. “The thirtieth will suffice.”
“Bien.” Handing the notes back to Marie-Christine, Fleur smiled and gave a slight nod to Pansy. “Then we will see you again on ze twenty-eighth, Miss Parkinson.” She crossed towards the small dias and leaned over, brushing air kisses on both of Pansy’s cheeks. “I ‘ope you ‘ave a very ‘appy Christmas.”
“The same to you, Madame Delacour, and...?” she glanced down at the babe nestled against Fleur’s chest, her fluffy red hair marking her forever as a Weasley.
“Marianne.”
“Ah. As in La Marianne?”
Fleur’s lips twitched. “Ze personification of La Liberté et la France, oui.”
“Very patriotic of you.” Pansy brushed her finger over the tiny nose and smiled. “She’s beautiful.”
“Merci. But we will not keep you any longer from your day. I am looking forward to seeing you again after ze ‘olidays.”
With a nod and a wave, Pansy watched as the designer left the room. Her assistant helped her out of the dress and left her to dress while she bustled the gown back to the design hall it was being stored at. She dressed quickly, slipping into her wool sweater dress and black boots before she doffed her fur-lined gloves and coat.
The December wind was icy as it blew down street. Pansy wasn’t often in Muggle London, but Delacour was one of the few design houses that catered to both wizards and Muggles. The closest Apparition point was several blocks away -- further proof that even nepotism was dead at the Ministry, since they had turned down a request to establish a separate point from Arthur Weasley’s daughter-in-law.
Perhaps she would take tea at the Savoy. It was only a little further up the street.
Having spent a couple enjoyable hours meandering through Selfridges, though he purchased very little, Lysander strolled through the London streets debating whether he wanted to make his way to Harrod’s or simply try again another day. There weren’t many people he’d be exchanging gifts with, but he liked to put a bit of thought in the exercise. He paused at the corner, eying the street sign in contemplation.
When the man in front of her stopped abruptly, Pansy’s lips pursed in displeasure as she stepped to the side -- avoiding plowing into his back. “Excuse me,” she said, brushing past him to step to the curb.
“Sorry,” he said absently, paying little attention to the woman passing by. It was only a split second later that he recognized her voice, the identity confirmed when he turned his eyes to her. “Pansy...”
She heard her name, but it took another few seconds before the voice who’d spoken registered in her mind. Pansy stilled. Her heart skipped a beat, forcing her to calm herself before she turned to face her might-have-been lover. “Lysander.”
They stared at one another for several long moments and Lysander contemplated a million things to say, trying to find one that wasn’t completely awkward. “You look well,” he settled on at last, his eyes taking in the rosy stain the winter air had left on her cheeks. It was lovely against the pale backdrop of her skin.
The breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding escaped her lips, forming a small cloud in the frigid December air. “As do you,” she said at length.
She didn’t know what else to say. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t imagined running into Lysander again -- because she had. But in her imagination, she was happy, loved, with someone else; a combination of all of the above. In her dreams, she wasn’t thirty and alone.
In her dreams, she didn’t miss him.
How was it that he’d become so adept at putting from his mind just how lovely she was and how every time they saw one another a visceral awareness pulled at him? Years of practice, he supposed. Arrogance of youth.
“Have you been shopping?” he asked after a moment, aware that the silence had lingered too long.
“After a fashion,” Pansy answered a beat later. “I had a fitting with Madame Delacour. She’s made my gown for the New Year.” Blue eyes flickered over his well-tailored coat; Lysander had always known how to dress. “And you?”
Lifting the small bag he carried, he smiled wryly. “You know I enjoy shopping, although I didn’t find very much today that caught my eye. I was just debating whether to try another store, but if you have the time it might be nice to grab a cup of coffee or something to eat?” She might very well turn him down. They had not parted on good terms, but Lysander had a long history with Pansy. If such a thing was possible, he’d prefer to have some kind of relationship with her.
She paused for a moment, considering. Their shared history weighed heavily on her like a mantle; all the years of almost, not now, I can’t give you that. Did she want to revisit that familiar path, one that she knew -- for certain -- lead to nothing but heartache? Common sense told her no, but that part of her brain was often silenced when it came to her heart.
“Coffee would be lovely.”
“Wonderful.” Extending his arm for her to take, Lysander waited for Pansy’s slender fingers to curl around his forearm before starting them in the direction of a little coffee house down the road. “So, what worthy cause has won your attendance on New Year’s Eve? Or are you just going to a particularly fantastic party?”
“A combination of the two, I imagine,” she said lightly as Lysander steered them through the throngs of people crowding the London sidewalk. “Edward has again failed in procuring a date with his charm and charisma, so I’m doing a bit of charity work.”
“A common problem for Carmichael, I’ve heard,” Lysander returned with a grin. “It’s why he’s such a viper in business - making up for his shortcomings in other areas.” He had no such intel, but Edward Carmichael was much like Julian, and men such as his friend all needed a dose of humility whenever it could be forced upon them. “It’s good of you to take pity on him. He couldn’t have hoped to get half such a lovely companion on his own merits alone.”
“No, he could not.” Pansy’s gaze flickered up to glance at Lysander as she did her best to ignore the way that smile made her stomachs liquify like those of a third year in the throes of her first infatuation. Too much time had passed to travel down that path once more. “And you?” she asked, her voice deceptively neutral. “Have you plans for an evening of debauchery with Mr. Vaisey again?”
Lysander chuckled, shaking his head as he held the door to the coffee shop for his companion. “More like we’ll watch the debauchery. I fear Vaisey and I are becoming old men. We’ll drink expensive spirits and get doted on by showgirls paid to make us feel special. It’s a very sad state, don’t you think?”
“Positively depressing,” she replied. “But I suppose it’s an improvement on spending the evening with his twin progenies.”
“Yes. They’re fairly well behaved for small children, but hardly the company one wants on a night meant for celebration.” Ideally, the company for a night of celebration would be a warm, beautiful woman, but Lysander had reconciled himself to the absence of that, unless he wanted to bed one of Julian’s employees. It wouldn’t be the first time, but neither was it something he cared to make a habit of.
“Oh, I’m sure your showgirls will dote no matter what sort of company you keep,” Pansy commented lightly as she stepped up to the coffee counter. Truth be told, she didn’t care to think of a slag burlesque dancer putting her hands all over Lysander. But on the other hand, if that was the sort of company he preferred to keep (he didn’t prefer to keep in your company, her pesky inner voice reminded her), then he was welcome to it.
“No doubt, but I imagine their mother would not appreciate the environment, and there are limits to just how far I can delude myself into believing a woman is showing interest because she’s actually interested and not just because my friend pays her wages.” And he was too big an idiot to take advantage of true affection when it was offered, but that went unsaid for now.
They placed their orders and moved to a free table to wait for them. Studying his former flame, Lysander’s lips curled. “You really do look beautiful, Pans. I don’t know why it always takes me by surprise just how gorgeous you are.”
Pansy’s gaze flickered up to meet his, but she didn’t say anything. A long moment passed in silence as a thousand different retorts raced through her mind, ranging from Kindly go jump off the nearest cliff to And you’re still as handsome as ever.
“Neither do I,” she said finally, a hint of regret in her voice. “But thank you.”
The twist of his lips was wry, but Lysander’s dark eyes held chagrin. He knew he’d treated her poorly, most than once, in his attempt to stay an adolescent. It was something he and Julian had fed in each other, that shunning of serious commitment, but his friend had been bitten in the arse by fate and now Lysander was a child on his own. “Is there a bloke properly appreciating your loveliness these days?”
“No.” It wasn’t entirely true, of course. Gabriel was a welcome distraction whenever she was in France, but keeping a lover was hardly the same as a proper partner. He helped to ease the loneliness at night, but that was the entirety of their liaison.
“That’s a shame. There ought to be.” He shouldn’t even be contemplating it. It was an invitation to be hexed in the bollocks. Twice. Still, he couldn’t stop the next words from coming out. “Perhaps you’d consider letting me audition for the part sometime.”
Her blue eyes flashed with emotion, the only outward hint to the sudden onslaught of emotions his words brought to the forefront. It was testimony to her restraint that her voice was even, her tone cool as she replied, “I seem to recall you making your thoughts on the position perfectly clear last we spoke of it.”
He didn’t deny the charge. When she’d asked him his intentions so long ago, he hadn’t had any. While he’d tried not to lead Pansy on, it became very clear that whether he intended it or not, that’s what he’d done. Lysander couldn’t blame her for being wary.
“I spent a very long time trying to keep from growing up, Pans. I was good at it. Things change. That’s not what I want anymore.”
She leveled him with a long, appraising look. Her mind was racing with a million questions, and it took her a few moments before she finally settled on one.
“Why?” she asked. “Tell me why I should give you another chance.” She had already spent enough time having her emotions strung out by Lysander Montague. She had no intentions of putting her heart out there again for anything less than everything.
Lysander’s lips twisted and he shrugged. “It has come to my attention that I’m thirty-one years old. I’d rather not turn into one of those middle-aged blokes trying to recapture his youth. I’ve always wanted a family one day. It’s only recently occurred to me that ‘one day’ is coming on a lot sooner than I’d realized.”
Dark eyes met the ice blue ones turned on him. “As for why you... It’s always been you, Pansy. No one else draws me the way you do. I know it’s the same for you. As stupid as I’ve been, as badly as I hurt you, you still can’t say no when I want you near.”
His words were like a hex to the heart. “This sounds a bit like an abusive relationship,” she commented, her tone like ice. She inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring slightly as she mulled her words carefully. “You were the first man I ever loved, Lysander, but you have hurt me. Badly.”
She’d cried over him. As hard as she’d tried, she’d never forgotten the feeling of despair she’d felt when he’d walked out.
The slight clench of his jaw was the only outward sign of his ire before a careful mask slid into place. He was willing to be honest about difficulty he’d had maturing to a point where he was ready to consider a serious relationship. He could own that he’d hurt her. None of his failings were malicious though. The things he’d done had never been intentional, but he was human and he had flaws. Maybe more than other men, he wasn’t in a place to judge that sort of thing.
“I certainly never intended for you to feel abused, Pansy,” he returned, his voice even and unemotional. “Nor would I expect you to tie yourself to someone you viewed in such a way. My apologies for taking your time. I wish you all the best.” With a nod, he rose to leave.
She was reaching for his hand before she’d even realized what she was doing, half out of her seat. “Lysander, wait.”
Glancing at the petite hand grasping his own, Lysander stopped his progress and looked at Pansy with a raised brow. “Why? If you believe I’m some kind of monster, this is a poor choice for both of us.”
“I don’t believe you’re a monster, Lysander. That was a poor choice of phrasing.” His expression was unchanging, so she dropped his hand and settled back into her seat.
He stood for a moment, debating whether to stay or go, whether it was his heart or his pride that was most wounded by her words. They’d done the bit where one of them walked away enough, though. If he was going to call himself an adult, he’d have to stay and sort through this, one way or another. Finally, he returned to his chair. “What do you think of me, then?”
Pansy released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I think that your statement that I can’t say no to you no matter what wounded my pride,” she said finally.
Nodding, he reached out and took her hand. “I think we’ve spent too long concerning ourselves with our pride, don’t you? It hasn’t brought us happiness. I’ve discovered that pride and vanity don’t do a very good job of keeping me warm at night.”
“No, they don’t.” Her gaze flickered down to their clasped hands, then back to his dark eyes. “So where do we go from here?”
“In a few days it will be a new year. Seems like a good time for a fresh start, yes?” The holiday would keep them both busy in the meantime, it just made sense to wait for the flurry of activity to pass. “Then I can take you out on a proper date, and we’ll discuss it. In the meantime, it’s been far too long since I’ve done this...” he said, then leaned across the table to capture Pansy’s ruby lips.
His kiss only caught her by surprise for a split second before she leaned closer and kissed him in return. They were different people than the two teenagers snogging on a spring day at Hogwarts, but the press of his lips against hers was achingly familiar.
Lysander didn’t push too far, not this first time, but it was nice to finally do what he’d never really been able to forget. When he pulled back, his hand coming up to cradle her face, he smiled, asking, “In the new year, then?”
Her lips curled in a smile to match his own. “I’ll expect your owl on New Year’s Day, mind.”
“As the lady wishes,” he agreed.
Summary: Lysander and Pansy meet for the first time in a year.