Secrets We Share Chapter 1.

Content Warnings: Nothing.

Pansy took a deep breath, steeling herself before she summoned up the courage to knock on the door. She looked down at the large cloak that covered her body from shoulder to ankle, obscuring the gift she’d brought underneath it. Giving it a nervous tug to work out non-existent kinks in the fabric, she pushed open the door once permission had been granted by the occupant of that particular office. Harry Potter. Head Boy. War Hero.

And my savior.

The small smile on her face instantly morphed into a sneer when she realized he wasn’t alone, the girl immediately adopting the bitchy persona that was still her shield around the general public.

Never give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they’ve succeeded in hurting you.

Except him, she thought, looking at the messy-haired man seated behind the large desk. She’d let him do whatever he wanted to her. If he asked, she’d have kneeled right there next to him, her head in his lap, keeping him company all day, uncaring of who came in and watched.

One day, she reminded herself, sneering at Neville even though her heart wasn’t in it. Her heart wasn’t in a lot of things these days. She wasn’t even sure she had one anymore.

Being used by the man you thought loved you for six years only to be tossed away when you’re no longer useful will do that to you.

“Pansy?” The utter lack of judgment and hostility in Longbottom’s voice was killing her. He was supposed to hate her. She had been on the wrong side of the war even if she hadn't fought in the final battle. She had been part of the group that the Carrows had ordered to burn down his precious greenhouses as punishment for his resistance. And she had done it. All for the promise of a love that had never been true.

“Congratulations Longbottom,” she drawled after taking a minute to compose herself, “you have eyes. If you’re busy Potter, we can just skip detention and I’ll act appropriately chastised tomorrow morning in the Great Hall. Longbottom isn’t a snitch. Are you Longbottom?” The question may have been addressed to him, but her dark eyes flickered to look at Harry, hoping he’d recognize the desperation in them. She needed him.

“Actually, I was just leaving. You’ll look into it then, Harry?” Neville asked, the chair scraping as he pushed it back to get up.

“Yep. I’ll ask the prefects to add the greenhouses to their patrol routes. Although why anyone would keep stealing jambrok roots is beyond me.” He sighed, pushing his hands underneath the tattered glasses he still wore to rub his eyes. He looked tired. Shouldn’t a war hero be allowed to rest on his laurels? She was the kind of person they were supposed to castigate, punish and overwork. Not her Harry. After everything he’d been through, he deserved his rest.

And who exactly, she thought bitterly, would trust someone like me to help run their school?

The gentle clicking of his fingers broke her free of her reverie, and even though Longbottom was still pulling the door shut behind him she rushed to his side, sighing as she felt the now familiar pressure of his hand around her throat once she had knelt.

He was the exact opposite of everything she was used to. Intense. Possessive. Passionate. She craved it all, just as she craved for him. To him, she was perhaps just a way to let loose some steam, his dirty little secret that he kept hidden under his desk. Secretly, she hungered for more, but she’d accept whatever he gave her. The scraps of his affection were already more than what she truly deserved.

“Miss Parkinson.”

“Sir,” Pansy answered, her eyes fluttering shut. Every time she assumed the position, her mind traveled back to that moment in the bathroom next to the Wizengamot Court where he had found her after her trial, trying to punish herself with her wand for a crime they (because of his substantial intervention and lobbying) had found her not guilty of. He had taken the wand from her hands and ordered her to never do something like it again, and she had obeyed. He kept ordering, she kept obeying.

And she never wanted it to stop.

“I hear you landed yourself in yet another detention,” he murmured, turning his chair ninety degrees to face her without having to twist.

“It was History of Magic, sir,” Pansy replied, keeping her eyes fixed on the rough-hewn stones that formed the floor of his office. They and her knees had become intimately acquainted in the one month Harry Potter had been Head Boy. “I thought it was customary to fall asleep in that class.”

He chuckled, and she smiled, glad the locks of her black hair that cascaded around her face obscured it from view. She had let her jet black silky hair grow down to her upper back, just one of the many radical changes she had made after the war.

“That was when the teacher was a ghost who hadn’t even realized that he’d died.” The soft tone of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. He was never angry at her, even though her actions, even now, were more than deserving of it. There were days she wished he yelled. His rage she deserved. His disappointment wasn’t something she thought she could handle. “We have a teacher who is both alive and observant now, and she might think it slightly rude when one of her students thinks her class is a time to nap.”

“She did. That’s why I’m in detention right now sir.” She leaned forward almost imperceptibly to tighten the hold of his hand around her throat. The pressure comforted her. She closed her eyes, waiting and dreading for the question she knew was bound to come.

“That explains tonight’s detention, Miss Parkinson. The slip I got tells me you have detention all of next week as well. Signed by-” he paused to look at the note, and she sighed.

“The Head Girl,” she interjected, without waiting for him to continue.

“And what rule did you break for Miss Granger to consider such a heavy punishment?” His thumb was now massaging the pulse point on her neck, and she felt like she’d cream her knickers just from what he was doing to her at that very moment. Orgasm from pseudo-choking. She doubted even Zabini, with all his self-proclaimed sexual prowess, could lay claim to such a feat.

She cleared her throat, knowing he would be disappointed by her next words. “I called her a judgmental bitch sir,” Pansy said, lowering her neck another inch, adding yet more delicious pressure.

“Why did you do that?”

“She kept berating me for falling asleep in class even after I explained why it had happened,” Pansy said, taking a deep breath. That hadn’t been the entire reason. She had kept her temper even then, knowing how important she was to him. She debated telling him the entire reason until his reassuring hum spurred her on, “and she wouldn’t let me serve detention with you.”

“Oh?”

“She thinks I always get off easy because all you do is give me lines.”

“Did you tell her you had special permission from Headmistress McGonagall that allows you to serve all detentions with me?”

“I did. The judgmental bitch part might have slipped out first,” Pansy admitted. She wondered how upset he’d be. The curious part of her brain was egging her on to look up, to see what expression he had on his face, but she ignored the impulse.

It’s not like we can get in any more trouble, the voice in her brain piped up and she balled her fists, steeling her resolve not to break position.

He can stop taking care of me, she reminded herself, and the utter terror the thought provoked was enough to kill her curiosity.

She gasped in surprise when he did something he never had, his hand moving from her throat to her hand, pulling her up to her feet and then onto his lap. She blushed, keeping her head lowered to ensure her hair hid her pink cheeks.

What was he doing? His actions were a reward, not a punishment.

He grasped her chin, turning her face to make her look at him. His emerald eyes held quiet concern, and she felt herself instinctively lean closer, desperate for any form of comfort and affection from the man.

“How did you sleep last night?” He asked softly, pushing her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“Terribly,” she admitted, unable to meet his eyes. She was weak. Unworthy. After everything that had happened, he still found the strength and will in him to take care of a lost soul such as hers.

He is pure, and all I do is sully him.

She knew her best contribution to society at this point would be to stay far away from him. But she could not bring herself to do it. She clung to him like a moth to a flame, basking in whatever light and warmth her shriveled soul could comprehend.

“Nightmare?” His hands were cupping her round cheeks, and she was quite sure he could hear the hammering of her heart.

“The same one. It’s always the same one,” she admitted softly.

“I want you to sleep in my room for the duration of your detention,” Harry said, his thumb brushing away the single tear that had leaked out from the corner of her eye.

“I- sir?” she asked, flabbergasted by his command. His actions, the things he was doing and ordering, none of them sounded like a punishment to her. The order was even more surprising considering she had never been to his private dorms, or even the common room he shared with the Head Girl. They weren’t a couple in the traditional sense, or any sense really. There were no dates, no romance. Not even sex so far. He just took care of her. Kept her on the straight and narrow.

“You are to sleep in my room, in a bed next to mine for the duration of your detention,” he repeated his order, giving her a smile that threatened to steal what little piece of her heart she still had left.

“That’s not necessary sir,” Pansy said nervously. Even if the prospect of sharing a room with him hadn’t been daunting enough to dissuade her, the fact that she’d inevitably run into a woman who seemed to loathe her existence several times a day certainly was. “I’ll be fine. I’ll ask Professor Slughorn to brew me a stronger sleeping draught.”

“Pansy Parkinson. You once asked what you could do to thank me for everything I’ve done for you,” he murmured, lazily running his thumb across her lips. Her heart jumped in her throat, and she had to suppress the quiet whine that threatened to escape her mouth. “I asked you to give yourself to me, and obey all my orders within reason. You agreed to my request, didn’t you?”

“I did, sir,” Pansy admitted, shivering despite the warmth of the room.

“Is my order outside the bounds of the few limits you set for me?”

Pansy shook her head.

“Are you comfortable with sharing a room with me? We shall be sleeping on different beds, and you shall have just as much privacy as you do in your dorms.”

She nodded mutely this time. Was she comfortable sharing a room with him? Considering the fact that she was currently wishing he never asked her to climb off his lap, she was absolutely sure she wouldn’t mind. Harry wasn’t the one she was worried about. It was the person he shared half his living space with that truly terrified her.

“Then, after this detention is over, you will accompany me to the Head Dormitories.”

“Yes sir,” Pansy agreed quietly.

“Now, there is the matter of your detention. Perhaps Miss Granger is right. In the three detentions you’ve served with me this single month of school, all I’ve done is assign you lines of varying length and quantity,” he murmured, his thumb ghosting over her lips again. “Perhaps it is time for a change.”

“Did you have something in mind, sir?” Pansy asked, suddenly hoping it involved his thumb or some other part of his body being inside her mouth. She blushed, her cheeks turning a dark red.

She wasn’t sure from which perverted corner of her mind that thought had sprung from, but she killed it just as quickly as it had arrived.

I doubt he’s ever going to find me sexually attractive. I’m a pity case, that’s all.

“Did you have something in mind, sir?” She repeated her question quickly, before he could think to ask her the reason behind her blushing.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Notes: Originally, this was going to be a Harry/Pansy Post-War One Shot. But I was reading a Snape/Hermione fic, and I realized that Post-War redemption fics are usually for Snape or Draco, usually by pairing them with Hermione. And then I realized, I really wanted to explore Pansy's psyche and how she'd be as a sub, so here we are! Harry/Pansy Post-War is now a hill I'll die on.