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hp_rarefestTitle: Appalling Appeasement
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
plaidphoenix
Prompt: His friends browbeat him into going on a blind date. He's horrified when he gets set up with a Slytherin, and doubly horrified when he starts to like her.
Pairing(s): Harry/Pansy, Ron/Hermione, Blaise/Ginny
Word Count/Art Medium: 2539
Rating: R
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: None
Summary: Harry gets talked into going on a blind date. With who? Pansy Parkinson. What’s even worse, despite his pain, he could actually like her. How much? I guess he’ll find out in the morning.
“Harry, we caught you wearing one of her dresses,” Hermione says with obvious concern.
“It was for an undercover assignment,” you answer, far too quickly, far too defensively.
“Mate, you’re my best friend and I have to tell you that wearing one of my sister’s dresses isn’t healthy,” Ron comments. “In fact it’s downright scary.”
“As if you don’t try on any of Hermione’s things,” you mutter a bit too loudly for your own good.
“Well that’s beside the point,” Hermione quickly observes. “We’re talking about you, you need to get out of here and start dating again.”
“Hermione, I don’t want to,” you can’t help but snarl.
“Ginny’s gone mate,” Ron says, “I don’t like it any more then you do but she’s shacked up with Zabini and she isn’t coming back.”
“I still think he’s got her under the Imperius Curse,” you mutter. “She has to be, she just has to be.”
“Kingsley’s gone up there a half a dozen times himself, Harry,” Ron says, trying to reassure you. “There’s nothing fishy going on. Believe me, if we could arrest him for anything, we would. You know that. You should listen to the arguments that mum and dad get up to, they like it even less then you do but there’s nothing to be done.”
“I know, I know,” you say with a sigh, you can feel your voice nearly breaking. “It’s just, of all the people to leave me for, Zabini…”
“Harry,” Hermione begins before you interrupt her.
“So, I suppose you’ve got someone in mind for me,” you ask. You know your heart isn’t in it but you also know Hermione won’t let the subject drop.
“Not us, Harry,” Hermione tells you, “Hannah Abbott. You know she’s working at the Leaky Cauldron now. Well she’s trying her hand at matchmaking and we’ve asked her to set you up.”
“Matchmaking? Have you gone daft, Hermione,” you ask, not believing what you’re hearing out of your best friend. The only way to make this more insane would be to have Ron jump on board with such a ludicrous idea.
“Yes, Harry Potter,” Hermione continues “matchmaking. And don’t you dare use that tone with me, you know Hannah and you know she’s no dummy where dating is concerned or did you forget she’s getting married to Neville next June?”
“No, Hermione, I didn’t forget,” you reassure her. “But that doesn’t make her an expert on dating.”
“You might as well give in now, mate,” Ron says with a grin so cheeky you want to hit him. “You know she’s not going to give up on this.”
“Oh alright!” you concede. “But just so long as she doesn’t set me up with Pansy Parkinson!”
“She can set you up with bloody Bellatrix Lestrange as long as I don’t have to see you wearing my sister’s clothes, mate,” Ron jokes. “Ow! What was that for? I make one joke and he resorts to violence.”
Two weeks later outside the Leaky Cauldron.
Ok, Potter, you’re a Gryffindor, you can do this, just step up and go through the door.
Stepping up, you muster you courage and step through the front door.
“Hello, Harry,” you hear Hannah Abbott say. “She’s waiting for you in Suite 215, right up the stairs, third door on the left.”
Scowling, you head up the stairs and barely pay attention as Hannah says something else. You feel like the condemned man about to eat his final meal.
Up the stairs and first, second, third door on your left. Hand up and you’re knocking.
The door opens to reveal a pair of sexy legs leading up to a pair of rather curvaceous hips before arching up past a rather pinched waist and healthy breasts, wrapped in a rather tight fitting emerald green dress, all supporting the face of…
Pansy Parkinson
Pansy Freaking Parkinson
Well at least it isn’t Bloody Bellatrix Lestrange you tell yourself as you feel your rage try and explode your head.
“Potter,” you hear her say.
“Hello, Pansy,” you hear yourself say. They aren’t the first words to pop into your head but you’re not in the mood to be arrested for murder, at least not right now. You’ll save that for Ron and Hermione.
But I had to, Your Honor, they had it coming. Both of them.
“Well, Potter,” Pansy asks. “Are you going to come inside? Or stand there all night with that stupefied look on your face? You know, the one you Gryffindors usually walk around with.”
“Not tonight, Pansy,” you tell her, “I’m really not in the mood.”
“Oh, the famous Potter wit,” Pansy shoots back. “I’ll bet that’s what Weasley found endearing about you that she felt the need to run off and cavort with Blaise.”
“Back on a first name basis, are we, Pansy,” you ask. “I thought you swore you’d never forgive him for dropping you like a bad habit.”
“Good night, Potter,” Pansy says with her usual air of arrogance. “I have better things to do then stand here and be insulted by you.”
“Off to go shag a hippogriff, are you,” you sharply retort.
“You should try it, Potter,” Pansy snarls. “You could use a good shag.”
“Thanks, but no,” you tell her, “I’m not that desperate.”
“And that’s why Weasley left you for him,” Pansy asks.
“And that’s why he left you for her,” you reply. “Trust me, I know what I lost and I know that he’s getting the better part of the deal though I can’t for the life of me understand what she sees in him.”
“She sees the same thing I saw,” Pansy replies as her body starts to tremble.
“Oh don’t, Pansy,” you say as you choke back some vile “That whole ‘woe is me’ routine didn’t work for you back at Hogwarts and it’s not going to work for you now.”
“It’s not an act!” Pansy screeches. “But what would you know, Potter, you’ve always gotten everything you wanted.”
“Pansy, if I got everything I ever wanted, I’d be home in bed with Ginny,” you tell her. “Trust me, if you think it was easy being the Boy Who Lived, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Draco should have killed you when he had the chance,” Pansy sniffs.
“Careful, Pansy,” you growl. “I’d hate to have the DMLE respond to the report of an accidental death as you trip and fall down the stairs, breaking your neck. Repeatedly.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Pansy shrilly declares.
“Just try me,” you tell her. “I won’t even have to use my wand.”
“They’d never believe you,” Pansy exclaims with a shake of her head though it’s obvious she knows they would.
“Do you want to find out,” you ask. “I’m more than willing to oblige.”
“You may be a killer, Potter,” Pansy observes. “But you’re no murderer.”
“And what are you, Pansy,” you question. “A five knut whore in a two galleon dress?”
And before you know it, you’re flying through the air and being slammed into the wall by a display of wandless magic you didn’t think Pansy possessed.
You feel yourself slowly slipping to the floor as you reach up to see how many piece your skull has been broken into.
Ok, that was unexpected.
“I apologize, Pansy,” you groan. “Make that ten knuts.”
“Oh shut up, Potter,” Pansy snaps as she kneels down beside you. “Admit it, you didn’t think I had it in me to do something like that.”
“No, no I didn’t,” you answer as you look up to see her face only a few inches from yours, wearing a look of almost genuine concern. “How did you get so good at wandless magic?”
“I’ve always been good at Charms,” Pansy sniffs. “I was actually a good student, not that you’d know.”
“No, I wouldn’t know,” you admit. You aren’t warming up to Pansy but you do have a touch more respect then you had five minutes ago.
“You got spoiled being friends with Granger,” Pansy tells you. “Believe it or not, there were a number of us at Hogwarts who were just as good as her at our studies.”
You can’t help but laugh at that.
“Believe it or not I got eight Exceeds Expectations and one Acceptable on my O.W.L. exams, Potter,” Pansy tells you. “How well did you do?
You don’t want to give Pansy the satisfaction but she takes your silence for what it is and smirks triumphantly
“I knew it,” she gloats. “How does it feel, Potter, knowing you’ve been beaten at something by a lowly Slytherin?”
“How’s it feel to know you lost your boyfriend to a lowly Gryffindor,” you shoot back.
“Careful, Potter,” Pansy tells you as she stands up and straightens out her dress. “I’ve already sent you flying into the wall, I’d hate to send you flying through it.”
You count to ten. Slowly, patiently, using every trick in the book, you manage to count to ten and somehow get your blood pressure under control.
“Let’s sit down at least, Pansy,” you tell her.
“Oh, we are desperate,” Pansy snickers. “Aren’t you, Potter?”
“No, Pansy, I’m not,” you tell her. “I just don’t want to deal with the headache of dealing with Ron and Hermione thinking I gave up after only five minutes.”
Admit it, Potter, Pansy is more intriguing then you ever gave her credit for. Still, she is a Slytherin so she can’t be that redeemable.
“Poor Potter,” Pansy teases as she sits down across the table from you. “Too afraid to face his friends, instead he slums with the disreputable Slytherin who he ignored all those years ago.”
“Fine, Pansy,” you get out through gritted teeth as you reach for the wine, “I’ll be the first to admit I was just as wretched to you as you were to me when we were at school and I shouldn’t have been so quick to buy into all that Gryffindor verses Slytherin tripe.”
“And I look a lot better in a little black dress and a fair amount of cleavage then I did as an eleven year old, flat chested know nothing,” Pansy shoots back.
Is she teasing? Or flirting? Oh God, did someone put something in the wine?
“It’s more than just fair, it’s downright generous,” you reply.
The wine in Pansy’s mouth flies across the table as what you said registers in her mind. Yep, someone definitely spiked the wine.
“What is wrong with you, Potter,” Pansy asks. “I’ve never, ever, seen anyone go from snarky, self-centered bastard to flirty, take-off-your-dress-so-we-can-shag bastard so quickly.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it” you ask. “Someone’s fiddled with the wine.”
“Obviously it’s obvious,” Pansy says with such deadpan seriousness it takes all the energy you have not to laugh. “But what do you want to do about it.”
“I want to find my soon to be former best friends, murder them in their sleep,” you tell her. “Then I want to go home, curl up into a ball and cry myself to sleep.”
“Poor Potter,” Pansy croons with a sad delight. “It must be so terrible to live life as a mere mortal.”
A glare from you almost sends Pansy tumbling out of her chair.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be you and Ginny together forever down through the ages and now you’re all but trapped in a second rate dining room at the Leaky Cauldron with Pansy Parkinson of all people. It’s all you can do to keep from crying at the pathetic tragedy of it all. And what’s worse, as horrible as she is, you’re thinking Pansy Parkinson isn’t all that horrible.
Granted, she’s obnoxious, self-centered, opinionated, spoiled rotten little bitch.
And right now you’re wondering what she’d look like lying in your bed, wearing your faded Puddlemere United t-shirt and nothing else.
“I think it’s safe to say tonight’s a bit of a wash, Pansy,” you announce without preamble.
“That’s my Potter,” Pansy retorts, “master of the obvious.”
“That being said,” you continue, ignoring her retort with surprising ease, “would you like to try again tomorrow?”
“Certainly, Potter,” she tells you, “on one condition. You take me to bed tonight and screw me like there’s no tomorrow,” she demands.
You feel your eyes bulging out of your skull. She did not just say what you think she said.
“Excuse me,” you ask. “Would you care to repeat that?”
“You heard me, Potter,” she tells you. “I want you to make love to me. Make love to me and mean it.”
This is not happening. This is so not happening.
“Why would I do that, Pansy,” you say as calmly as you can.
“I could give you a hundred reasons, Potter,” she tells you, “I could tell you that I’ve always wanted to know how good you are in bed, if you’re really as nice a guy as everybody says. But simply put, I’m tired of feeling empty inside. I’m tired of going to sleep in an empty bed and I’m tired of being alone.”
As you think about it, you force yourself to be honest with yourself and you realize that the last few months with Ginny weren’t all that spectacular. You were, to use a muggle term, phoning it in. You were showing up but not putting in any effort.
Ginny may have been the first one out the door but you left the relationship at the same time she did.
Slowly, cautiously, you make your way over to where she’s huddled on the ground and kneel down beside her.
“I think we’re two peas in a pod, Pansy,” you tell her. “I don’t know what happened with you and Blaise but thinking about it, Ginny and I were going through the same thing. And what’s worse, as a reward, my friends, my sodding, ruddy friends thought it’d be a grand idea to set us up together,” you snarl.
“They probably think we’ll be miserable together,” Pansy manages to get out, her voice a twisted mixture of anger, rage and sadness. “Maybe you’ll give me a pity shag and get it all out of your system.”
You laugh at that and Pansy looks at you with a confused look on her face.
“Trust me, Pansy,” you say with your best winning smile, “if we shag, it won’t be out of pity.”
“Then what will it be,” she asks.
“I’d have thought that’d be obvious,” you proclaim as you rise to your feet, bringing Pansy with you, “I mean, are you a Slytherin or aren’t you?”
“What?” Pansy demands. “What are you talking about?”
“Revenge,” you tell her. “What if we shag each other senseless, have the time of our lives and make Blaise and Ginny miserable for ever leaving us?”
Pansy can’t help but be impressed, you can see it in her eyes.
“What are we waiting for, Potter?” Pansy asks with a grin. “Your place or mine?”
“Why bother,” you tell her. “When we’ve got a room right here?”
And with that, the greatest double revenge ploy between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin went into play
One month later…
“I’m sorry, Pansy, I could have sworn you said you were pregnant.”
Author/Artist:
plaidphoenixPrompt: His friends browbeat him into going on a blind date. He's horrified when he gets set up with a Slytherin, and doubly horrified when he starts to like her.
Pairing(s): Harry/Pansy, Ron/Hermione, Blaise/Ginny
Word Count/Art Medium: 2539
Rating: R
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: None
Summary: Harry gets talked into going on a blind date. With who? Pansy Parkinson. What’s even worse, despite his pain, he could actually like her. How much? I guess he’ll find out in the morning.
“Harry, we caught you wearing one of her dresses,” Hermione says with obvious concern.
“It was for an undercover assignment,” you answer, far too quickly, far too defensively.
“Mate, you’re my best friend and I have to tell you that wearing one of my sister’s dresses isn’t healthy,” Ron comments. “In fact it’s downright scary.”
“As if you don’t try on any of Hermione’s things,” you mutter a bit too loudly for your own good.
“Well that’s beside the point,” Hermione quickly observes. “We’re talking about you, you need to get out of here and start dating again.”
“Hermione, I don’t want to,” you can’t help but snarl.
“Ginny’s gone mate,” Ron says, “I don’t like it any more then you do but she’s shacked up with Zabini and she isn’t coming back.”
“I still think he’s got her under the Imperius Curse,” you mutter. “She has to be, she just has to be.”
“Kingsley’s gone up there a half a dozen times himself, Harry,” Ron says, trying to reassure you. “There’s nothing fishy going on. Believe me, if we could arrest him for anything, we would. You know that. You should listen to the arguments that mum and dad get up to, they like it even less then you do but there’s nothing to be done.”
“I know, I know,” you say with a sigh, you can feel your voice nearly breaking. “It’s just, of all the people to leave me for, Zabini…”
“Harry,” Hermione begins before you interrupt her.
“So, I suppose you’ve got someone in mind for me,” you ask. You know your heart isn’t in it but you also know Hermione won’t let the subject drop.
“Not us, Harry,” Hermione tells you, “Hannah Abbott. You know she’s working at the Leaky Cauldron now. Well she’s trying her hand at matchmaking and we’ve asked her to set you up.”
“Matchmaking? Have you gone daft, Hermione,” you ask, not believing what you’re hearing out of your best friend. The only way to make this more insane would be to have Ron jump on board with such a ludicrous idea.
“Yes, Harry Potter,” Hermione continues “matchmaking. And don’t you dare use that tone with me, you know Hannah and you know she’s no dummy where dating is concerned or did you forget she’s getting married to Neville next June?”
“No, Hermione, I didn’t forget,” you reassure her. “But that doesn’t make her an expert on dating.”
“You might as well give in now, mate,” Ron says with a grin so cheeky you want to hit him. “You know she’s not going to give up on this.”
“Oh alright!” you concede. “But just so long as she doesn’t set me up with Pansy Parkinson!”
“She can set you up with bloody Bellatrix Lestrange as long as I don’t have to see you wearing my sister’s clothes, mate,” Ron jokes. “Ow! What was that for? I make one joke and he resorts to violence.”
Two weeks later outside the Leaky Cauldron.
Ok, Potter, you’re a Gryffindor, you can do this, just step up and go through the door.
Stepping up, you muster you courage and step through the front door.
“Hello, Harry,” you hear Hannah Abbott say. “She’s waiting for you in Suite 215, right up the stairs, third door on the left.”
Scowling, you head up the stairs and barely pay attention as Hannah says something else. You feel like the condemned man about to eat his final meal.
Up the stairs and first, second, third door on your left. Hand up and you’re knocking.
The door opens to reveal a pair of sexy legs leading up to a pair of rather curvaceous hips before arching up past a rather pinched waist and healthy breasts, wrapped in a rather tight fitting emerald green dress, all supporting the face of…
Pansy Parkinson
Pansy Freaking Parkinson
Well at least it isn’t Bloody Bellatrix Lestrange you tell yourself as you feel your rage try and explode your head.
“Potter,” you hear her say.
“Hello, Pansy,” you hear yourself say. They aren’t the first words to pop into your head but you’re not in the mood to be arrested for murder, at least not right now. You’ll save that for Ron and Hermione.
But I had to, Your Honor, they had it coming. Both of them.
“Well, Potter,” Pansy asks. “Are you going to come inside? Or stand there all night with that stupefied look on your face? You know, the one you Gryffindors usually walk around with.”
“Not tonight, Pansy,” you tell her, “I’m really not in the mood.”
“Oh, the famous Potter wit,” Pansy shoots back. “I’ll bet that’s what Weasley found endearing about you that she felt the need to run off and cavort with Blaise.”
“Back on a first name basis, are we, Pansy,” you ask. “I thought you swore you’d never forgive him for dropping you like a bad habit.”
“Good night, Potter,” Pansy says with her usual air of arrogance. “I have better things to do then stand here and be insulted by you.”
“Off to go shag a hippogriff, are you,” you sharply retort.
“You should try it, Potter,” Pansy snarls. “You could use a good shag.”
“Thanks, but no,” you tell her, “I’m not that desperate.”
“And that’s why Weasley left you for him,” Pansy asks.
“And that’s why he left you for her,” you reply. “Trust me, I know what I lost and I know that he’s getting the better part of the deal though I can’t for the life of me understand what she sees in him.”
“She sees the same thing I saw,” Pansy replies as her body starts to tremble.
“Oh don’t, Pansy,” you say as you choke back some vile “That whole ‘woe is me’ routine didn’t work for you back at Hogwarts and it’s not going to work for you now.”
“It’s not an act!” Pansy screeches. “But what would you know, Potter, you’ve always gotten everything you wanted.”
“Pansy, if I got everything I ever wanted, I’d be home in bed with Ginny,” you tell her. “Trust me, if you think it was easy being the Boy Who Lived, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Draco should have killed you when he had the chance,” Pansy sniffs.
“Careful, Pansy,” you growl. “I’d hate to have the DMLE respond to the report of an accidental death as you trip and fall down the stairs, breaking your neck. Repeatedly.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Pansy shrilly declares.
“Just try me,” you tell her. “I won’t even have to use my wand.”
“They’d never believe you,” Pansy exclaims with a shake of her head though it’s obvious she knows they would.
“Do you want to find out,” you ask. “I’m more than willing to oblige.”
“You may be a killer, Potter,” Pansy observes. “But you’re no murderer.”
“And what are you, Pansy,” you question. “A five knut whore in a two galleon dress?”
And before you know it, you’re flying through the air and being slammed into the wall by a display of wandless magic you didn’t think Pansy possessed.
You feel yourself slowly slipping to the floor as you reach up to see how many piece your skull has been broken into.
Ok, that was unexpected.
“I apologize, Pansy,” you groan. “Make that ten knuts.”
“Oh shut up, Potter,” Pansy snaps as she kneels down beside you. “Admit it, you didn’t think I had it in me to do something like that.”
“No, no I didn’t,” you answer as you look up to see her face only a few inches from yours, wearing a look of almost genuine concern. “How did you get so good at wandless magic?”
“I’ve always been good at Charms,” Pansy sniffs. “I was actually a good student, not that you’d know.”
“No, I wouldn’t know,” you admit. You aren’t warming up to Pansy but you do have a touch more respect then you had five minutes ago.
“You got spoiled being friends with Granger,” Pansy tells you. “Believe it or not, there were a number of us at Hogwarts who were just as good as her at our studies.”
You can’t help but laugh at that.
“Believe it or not I got eight Exceeds Expectations and one Acceptable on my O.W.L. exams, Potter,” Pansy tells you. “How well did you do?
You don’t want to give Pansy the satisfaction but she takes your silence for what it is and smirks triumphantly
“I knew it,” she gloats. “How does it feel, Potter, knowing you’ve been beaten at something by a lowly Slytherin?”
“How’s it feel to know you lost your boyfriend to a lowly Gryffindor,” you shoot back.
“Careful, Potter,” Pansy tells you as she stands up and straightens out her dress. “I’ve already sent you flying into the wall, I’d hate to send you flying through it.”
You count to ten. Slowly, patiently, using every trick in the book, you manage to count to ten and somehow get your blood pressure under control.
“Let’s sit down at least, Pansy,” you tell her.
“Oh, we are desperate,” Pansy snickers. “Aren’t you, Potter?”
“No, Pansy, I’m not,” you tell her. “I just don’t want to deal with the headache of dealing with Ron and Hermione thinking I gave up after only five minutes.”
Admit it, Potter, Pansy is more intriguing then you ever gave her credit for. Still, she is a Slytherin so she can’t be that redeemable.
“Poor Potter,” Pansy teases as she sits down across the table from you. “Too afraid to face his friends, instead he slums with the disreputable Slytherin who he ignored all those years ago.”
“Fine, Pansy,” you get out through gritted teeth as you reach for the wine, “I’ll be the first to admit I was just as wretched to you as you were to me when we were at school and I shouldn’t have been so quick to buy into all that Gryffindor verses Slytherin tripe.”
“And I look a lot better in a little black dress and a fair amount of cleavage then I did as an eleven year old, flat chested know nothing,” Pansy shoots back.
Is she teasing? Or flirting? Oh God, did someone put something in the wine?
“It’s more than just fair, it’s downright generous,” you reply.
The wine in Pansy’s mouth flies across the table as what you said registers in her mind. Yep, someone definitely spiked the wine.
“What is wrong with you, Potter,” Pansy asks. “I’ve never, ever, seen anyone go from snarky, self-centered bastard to flirty, take-off-your-dress-so-we-can-shag bastard so quickly.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it” you ask. “Someone’s fiddled with the wine.”
“Obviously it’s obvious,” Pansy says with such deadpan seriousness it takes all the energy you have not to laugh. “But what do you want to do about it.”
“I want to find my soon to be former best friends, murder them in their sleep,” you tell her. “Then I want to go home, curl up into a ball and cry myself to sleep.”
“Poor Potter,” Pansy croons with a sad delight. “It must be so terrible to live life as a mere mortal.”
A glare from you almost sends Pansy tumbling out of her chair.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be you and Ginny together forever down through the ages and now you’re all but trapped in a second rate dining room at the Leaky Cauldron with Pansy Parkinson of all people. It’s all you can do to keep from crying at the pathetic tragedy of it all. And what’s worse, as horrible as she is, you’re thinking Pansy Parkinson isn’t all that horrible.
Granted, she’s obnoxious, self-centered, opinionated, spoiled rotten little bitch.
And right now you’re wondering what she’d look like lying in your bed, wearing your faded Puddlemere United t-shirt and nothing else.
“I think it’s safe to say tonight’s a bit of a wash, Pansy,” you announce without preamble.
“That’s my Potter,” Pansy retorts, “master of the obvious.”
“That being said,” you continue, ignoring her retort with surprising ease, “would you like to try again tomorrow?”
“Certainly, Potter,” she tells you, “on one condition. You take me to bed tonight and screw me like there’s no tomorrow,” she demands.
You feel your eyes bulging out of your skull. She did not just say what you think she said.
“Excuse me,” you ask. “Would you care to repeat that?”
“You heard me, Potter,” she tells you. “I want you to make love to me. Make love to me and mean it.”
This is not happening. This is so not happening.
“Why would I do that, Pansy,” you say as calmly as you can.
“I could give you a hundred reasons, Potter,” she tells you, “I could tell you that I’ve always wanted to know how good you are in bed, if you’re really as nice a guy as everybody says. But simply put, I’m tired of feeling empty inside. I’m tired of going to sleep in an empty bed and I’m tired of being alone.”
As you think about it, you force yourself to be honest with yourself and you realize that the last few months with Ginny weren’t all that spectacular. You were, to use a muggle term, phoning it in. You were showing up but not putting in any effort.
Ginny may have been the first one out the door but you left the relationship at the same time she did.
Slowly, cautiously, you make your way over to where she’s huddled on the ground and kneel down beside her.
“I think we’re two peas in a pod, Pansy,” you tell her. “I don’t know what happened with you and Blaise but thinking about it, Ginny and I were going through the same thing. And what’s worse, as a reward, my friends, my sodding, ruddy friends thought it’d be a grand idea to set us up together,” you snarl.
“They probably think we’ll be miserable together,” Pansy manages to get out, her voice a twisted mixture of anger, rage and sadness. “Maybe you’ll give me a pity shag and get it all out of your system.”
You laugh at that and Pansy looks at you with a confused look on her face.
“Trust me, Pansy,” you say with your best winning smile, “if we shag, it won’t be out of pity.”
“Then what will it be,” she asks.
“I’d have thought that’d be obvious,” you proclaim as you rise to your feet, bringing Pansy with you, “I mean, are you a Slytherin or aren’t you?”
“What?” Pansy demands. “What are you talking about?”
“Revenge,” you tell her. “What if we shag each other senseless, have the time of our lives and make Blaise and Ginny miserable for ever leaving us?”
Pansy can’t help but be impressed, you can see it in her eyes.
“What are we waiting for, Potter?” Pansy asks with a grin. “Your place or mine?”
“Why bother,” you tell her. “When we’ve got a room right here?”
And with that, the greatest double revenge ploy between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin went into play
One month later…
“I’m sorry, Pansy, I could have sworn you said you were pregnant.”
