Those Wrong, Yet it's Right, Things

Chapter 15

Fate has delivered us over to each other. Your life is in my hands; my soul rests in yours. Beyond this place and this night all is dark.

~The Hunchback of Notre Dame (by Victor Hugo)

Pansy sat up and pulled her robe tighter around her. They'd been lying out on the observation deck just talking for nearly three hours. She'd told him about her favorite cousin and he'd told her all about the horrible Dursleys. She explained to him her parents and the Death Eater's and what it meant to be a pureblood and he told her how he felt about being the Boy-Who-Lived. No matter how deeply they found themselves in these topics they always seemed able to avoid the actual topic of war. Humming Beatoven's Moonlight Sonata quietly to herself--a song she had always secretly enjoyed--she replayed a small part of their conversation, the voices bouncing around in her head.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. He'd never taken Parkinson as a perfectionist. However, Pansy's eyes had never been more serious, her brow never so set; she wasn't' joking around.

"What are laughing at?" she asked clearly confused, trying to keep her voice calm.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized, trying to compose himself. "It's just...alphabetical by author and then by copyright date? Can't you just organize your library like normal people do? Say, alphabetical by title or by favorite book to least favorite?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Pansy turned to look out into the black night, her eyes resting on the Drinking Gourd in the sky. After a moment she answered, "No, Potter, I can't." Pansy turned to face him. "You asked me, if I owned my own library how I would organize it. It was an honest question, I answered it truthfully."

Harry's dimples finally faded back into the fold of his face. "Why?" was all he said.

"Well, alphabetical by the author's name so I can find the book," she said reasonably. " But organized within those books by copyright date because I believe an author improves. What I mean is that the longer an author writes, the more experience he or she has, therefore the better his or her book will be. Everything gets better with time, Harry." Knowingly she added, "Not so funny now, is it?"

"Not all people get better with time," he put in, bowing his head to study his worn sneakers.

"No, but most do."

For once in her life Pansy didn't ask herself why she was where she was. She knew it was exactly where she wanted to be. When she was with Harry, even when they were fighting, there was no place else she'd rather be; and when she wasn't with him, she wanted to be. Pansy admitted she was afraid of the feelings she was starting to have for the boy next to her. She wasn't allowed to have feelings. With Draco, her job had always just been to satisfy him and keep him happy; but Pansy was quickly learning that there was a little more than lust to a relationship. Again, Pansy recapped a piece of the evening.

"How do people know what their purpose is?" The question had been haunting Harry's mind every since he'd learned about the prophesy, and now that Pansy and himself had wandered onto the topic, he was eager to ask.

"I don't think they do." She wasn't looking anywhere in particular. Her eyes were wandering, taking in the different textures of the stone on the floor and the chips the had been taken out of the stone railing due to years of practicing students.

"How do you find it out, then?

"I don't think we do, Harry. I really don't think a person discovers their purpose until they die. Only then was it fulfilled, only then can they go."

To say Harry was taken aback by all he had heard tonight would be an understatement. "You've thought about this before." It wasn't a question. "Why?"

"Slytherins have lots of time to think. They just aren't allowed to share what they're thinking." Still, she hadn't turned to face him. Blue eyes raked over scorch marks in the corner, moonlight haloing the tops of the trees, stars winking down at the damp, black blades of grass.

Harry desperately wanted her to explain her statement. What did she mean when she said Slytherins have lots of time to think? Yet Harry was too shy to ask, so instead they switched topics. He would have to think on it later--if there was a later.

Charlie Weasley's words ran through her mind again. Harry hadn't been lonely tonight. Someday soon he would save the wizarding world and be dubbed a hero to all, but even heroes need someone. Pansy glanced up at the stars and wondered why Pluto and the Sun felt that someone had to be her.

"People like being lied to, Harry. It gives them a sense of security, comfort. Perhaps the world didn't believe, simply by their own choice. It had nothing to do with you or lack of facts. No matter how much proof you throw at them, if they choose not to believe, they simply won't."

"If they'd have known...."

Pansy turned to face him. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she gently reached over and rested her hand on top of Harry's tanned, large hand, watching as his green eyes fell from the star dusted sky to her face.

"You have to stop blaming yourself. You told them, it's not your fault they didn't listen. Nobody believes me." She pulled her hand back, and even though Harry felt a pang of sadness, he also felt relieved.

"What do you mean?"

Snapping her eyes back to the black abyss in front of her, she snapped, "I'm a Slytherin; that's all you need to know."

A shiver escaped down her spine and suddenly, she wasn't relaxed anymore. She let her eyes find their own place and she strained to see what it was that was bothering her.

Harry sat up beside her and followed her gaze to the gates of Hogwarts. "What is it?" he asked.

Tensing for a second at his closeness, she let out a breath. "I don't know. I think there's something out there, I just can't see."

"Towards the gates?" Pansy nodded. Whispering something to his wand, a jet of light shot from it and exploded quickly near the gates, lighting up the area momentarily like a firework. Pansy's eyes widened as the quick flash of light showed her dozens of figures in long black robes. Death Eaters.

"Harry...."

"I know, I saw." He thought for a few moments before standing and helping her to her feet. "I have to go, but I want you to stay here."

She'd been brushing off the butt of her robes but stopped, her stare so intense Harry felt like recoiling. "What?"

"I have to go find the others, gather the Order and alert them. No doubt Voldemort was planning to attack at first light. Now that they know someone's seen them though...."

Grabbing Harry's robe--crinkled from where they'd been laying on it--she handed it to him. "I'll come with you then."

"No." That was the first time Harry Potter had ever commanded her to do something. A part of her liked it, but she wasn't willing to back down.

"I'm not staying, Harry. I'm part of the Order too."

"A source of information, not a fighter." Harry silently prayed she'd understand that he didn't want her getting hurt, that she'd give in and stay here until he could sort this whole mess out.

"Don't think I'm capable of taking care of myself? I assure you, I am." Determined, she pulled her wand from her pocket, tired of his chivalrous nonsense. "I'm coming."

"No, Parkinson. You'll stay here."

"And do what? Hide while they wake innocent students from their beds and torture and kill them?" Pansy thought she was taking it overboard, but when Harry replied with a weak 'yes' she was frightened.

"You just expect me to hide until it's all over?" she asked incredulously, her voice raising octaves with each word.

"It's for the best. You know they'll take you, torture you, and probably kill you or worse because of what you did."

The night around them seemed to turn a shade blacker and Pansy replied reasonably, "Well, then they'll be searching for me anyway."

"You're staying here, Pansy." Harry gathered his cloak in his arms and started for the door. Straining to see into the distance she leaned as a spell shot her way. They'd definitely been seen. Pansy ducked through the balcony doorway and hurried after him.

"Harry, you can't be serious."

"I'll make sure no one reaches the tower, but hide somewhere just in case." Completely business, he hadn't even turned to her when he said it.

Frustrated she growled, "Potter...."

"I have to go, it'll take the Order a few minutes to get here." Harry reached out for the doorknob, but just as he started to turn it, Pansy's hand curled around his.

Stubborn bastard. Time to admit defeat, damn it all. "Fine, I'll stay." Pausing, she waited until his grateful green eyes met hers, which they soon did. "But only as long as you promise me one thing."

"What?"

"That you won't do something heroically stupid and get yourself killed tonight."

Harry hesitated and broke their gaze, looking into the darkness toward the wall. "I can't promise you that."

Smugly, she responded, "Then I can't promise Malfoy won't find me."

"You're so stubborn." He meant it jokingly but it came out of his voice laced with concern and frustration.

"Slytherin," she pointed out quickly.

Harry lifted his gaze above her head and looked out onto the balcony. It was such a beautiful night; the sky was clear, the air fresh, the breeze just tickling the trees. Even the shadows pouring onto the balcony floor seemed to fall in this calm, organized manner. A shout out on the grounds woke Harry from his reverie and he followed the blond strands of hair until he found Pansy's face again.

"Yeah, I know. We're completely wrong for each other."

"No, Harry," Pansy said, shaking her head, "we're completely right." She cupped the side of his face in her hand and leaned in, pressing her pouty lips to his left cheek.

"I'll do my best," he whispered referring to the promise.

Happy, Pansy genuinely smiled, all her pretenses and masks forgotten. "Then I will do mine."

Harry turned the knob and Pansy released his hand. Before he closed the door behind him he took one look back at her, his eyes holding the reflection of the stars.

"Pansy,"--she brought her head up and met his eyes again--"tonight you put the stars to shame." Dumbfounded and startled, Pansy glanced down at her expensive, wrinkled robes and raked a hand through her ratty hair, looking at him as though he were crazy. Harry just smiled.

Without a word, he shut the door, leaving her to stare at the dark shapes carved in the rich cherry oak, all of which seemed to mold into Harry's sweet, childish face. Snapping back to reality, Pansy searched for a place to hide, intending to keep her promise. But her stomach held a sinking feeling and she stopped mid-step. Some promises cannot be kept.