Work Text:
January 7 — Day One
A giant crash jerked Pansy awake.
“Bloody fucking Merlin’s saggy bolloks!” A voice snapped from the training room. Metal clanged together in a noisy clatter. “Shite. Holy Hell. Just fucking—”
Another crash, thankfully smaller than the first but not at all reassuring, echoed into the small office. Pansy sat up on the lumpy couch and murmured, “Lumos.”
The training room flooded with light. Through the large glass window, her second-least favorite redhead clutched her temples and moaned.
“Too much, too much—”
With healer reflexes, Pansy sprinted into the room and summoned one of the many bedpans Ginevra Weasley managed to knock over just in time to catch the contents of her stomach.
She vanished the sick the moment Weasley was done. No matter how long she’d been a healer, that was still the worst part.
She shoved the empty bedpan into her hands and helped Weasley onto one of the exam tables. “You’re concussed, aren’t you?” She’d seen the hit she’d taken on the goal post in the last half hour of practice after a successful Parkin’s Pincer by the reserve chasers.
She squinted at her. “Parkinson?”
Pansy dimmed the lights and Weasley sagged in relief.
“What are you doing here?”
Clearly she’d been too busy screwing around at the end of practice with Jones to listen to their coach announce the start of Pansy’s rotation. Either that or she’d hit her head harder than Pansy thought.
She tugged the hair tie out of Weasley’s thick auburn locks and began running her fingers over her scalp, checking for the injury site.
Her patient groaned and sagged forward, pressing her face directly between Pansy’s breasts.
It had been too fucking long since she’d had a witch there but with this witch it was absolutely unacceptable.
Palming Weasley’s forehead, she pushed her back. “That’s not in my contract,” she said. “Will you now tell me why you ignored concussion protocol?”
“As soon as you tell me what the fuck you’re—ahh, ahh, ahh!” She winced and grimaced as Pansy pressed against the swollen lump just behind her ear.
Pansy used her distraction to flip her legs up on the table and force her to lay on her side.
“Seriously, what are you doing here, Parkinson?”
She spread her hair, trying to get a good visual on the injury. Weasley whimpered but she couldn’t quite tell if it was pain or pleasure.
“If you had listened to announcements instead of screwing around with Jones, you would know that I am doing my mandatory quidditch rotation here as part of my healing internship.” She was lucky Jones hadn’t given her a second concussion after the first.
Weasley flipped over to squint at her. “You’re becoming a healer?”
She pushed her back into position and began casting healing spells over the bruise on her head rather than respond to the frankly insulting disbelief in her tone.
As her magic sunk into the injury, Weasley let out a deep, satisfied groan of relief that was practically obscene.
Pansy raised her wand. “Do you need a minute?” she drawled.
“For the love of Morgana, please don’t stop,” she whined.
Sweet Salazar. She’d treated five year olds less dramatic. And less noisy. Turning back to the matter at hand, she finished the healing charms and watched the inflammation finally start to recede.
“Alright, sit up.” She barked out a series of questions about the hit and her symptoms since practice, trying to establish a baseline.
Overall the injury was minor, especially for quidditch. She crossed her arms. “Why did you ignore concussion protocol after sustaining a head injury?”
She rolled her eyes. “I get bumped during practice all the time, I didn’t realize you cared so much, Parkinson—”
“I don’t care and that’s a lie,” she said. “Try again.”
Cinnamon brown eyes squinted up at her. “Your bedside manner needs some work.”
“My bedside manner is perfect when I’m dealing with patients who deserve treatment and not adults who’ve made poor life choices and abuse their position and privilege to inspire innocents to harm themselves.”
Weasley sputtered. “You of all fucking people want to talk to me about abusing your privilege to harm innocents?!”
It was Pansy’s turn to roll her eyes. “What has your knickers in a twist, Umbridge or wanting to hand Potter over to Voldemort?”
Weasley did an almost-perfect impression of her ex-boyfriend after he’d eaten gillyweed before the Second Task.
Right. Might as well get it all out of the way at once.
“I am very sorry for how I behaved in school,” she said. “I have completely rejected all of the blood supremacy teachings and beliefs of my family. I believe muggle born witches and wizards are a valuable part of our society and that muggles deserve to live in peace.”
She fervently prayed this was the last time she had to give this speech.
“I apologize for going along with my idiotic friend and our even more idiotic professor Fifth Year by joining the Inquisitorial Squad and for turning over your list of names,” she said. “I will not apologize for offering to hand Potter over to Voldemort as that would have saved many unnecessary deaths and obviously Potter made the same call two hours later.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know he was a horocrux—”
“What can I say, I’ve always been ahead of the curve.”
Her glare hardened.
“If Potter is over it, you can get over it too,” she said. “I have forty-one days left in this infernal post, let’s not complicate matters with things that happened four years ago if we can help it, shall we?”
Turning on her heel without waiting for a response, she selected the Brain Bruise Tonic and measured out a dose. She marched back to Weasley, who wore a rather stunned expression but drank it without question.
Progress, perhaps.
With a tap of her wand, she transfigured her stool into a cushioned armchair and sat. “You need to remain under observation for the next two hours,” she said. “I’ll run some more diagnostics at that point and if they’re clear, you can leave then.”
Weasley frowned at her from her perch on the exam table. “Why are you here?”
She frowned. Her diagnostics hadn’t indicated that Weasley had hit anything that could cause memory problems but if she missed something—
Weasley waved her hand the moment she started to cast another diagnostic. “I know you’re on a healing rotation, I meant what are you doing in the training room in the middle of the night?”
Oh. Right. “Sleeping.”
Trying to sleep, more accurately. If the lumpy couch wasn’t such a sorry piece of furniture she probably would have had more luck. Even the strongest cushioning charms hadn’t gotten rid of that one spot that kept pressing on her kidney.
“Is there always someone on call in the training room?”
She laid her head back and closed her eyes. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Okay, so, again I ask, what are you doing here?”
She let out a long, slow breath. “The flat I rented for the next six weeks had a doxy infestation and needed to be fumigated,” she said. “I needed a place to sleep until the weekend.”
Hopefully it would actually be cleared by then. She’d made inquiries and it sounded like the extermination company was a legitimate one but one never could be quite sure with doxies.
“Why didn’t you get a room at the Castell Caergybi?” she asked. “The views are gorgeous.”
As one would expect from the most expensive hotel in Wales. “I think you grossly overestimate the amount of money a St. Mungo’s intern makes.” The bulk of her stipend had gone towards the down payment for her flat and the landlord was refusing to give her any sort of refund.
Bastard.
“Don’t tell me you’ve already burned through the yearly allowance you get from your daddy.” There was a faint mockery to her tone. “It’s only been seven days, Parkinson.”
Pansy sat up and met her gaze straight on. “It’s been three and a half years since he disowned me, actually.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”
She sat back and cast a tempus. One hundred and eleven minutes to go.
“Was it because you became a blood traitor?”
She rolled her eyes and stood. If she was going to have to suffer through this conversation she might as well put the room back to rights. Weasley had done a number on it in a very short amount of time.
“Excellent guess, but it’s actually all the rage right now to have at least one family member who rejects blood purity,” she said. “That sort of modernism happens to be accepted, even if they secretly mourn it and complain about it behind our backs.”
She managed to pick up the mess and start reorganizing the potion cupboard before Weasley broke. “So why were you disowned?”
“I committed the most unforgivable sin a pureblood witch from my set is capable of.” She turned to face her. “Now, what familial trauma of yours would you like to unpack?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I walked in on my parents having sex in our kitchen when I was ten,” she said. “They forgot that I was still living at home.”
A shudder went through her. It was hard to say what was more horrifying, the mental image that gave her or the casual way Weasley brought it up. “Why would you tell me that?”
She didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “You asked for familial trauma,” she said. “I still can’t go near that countertop. Easily the most horrifying thing to ever happen to me in my life. And I spent a year possessed by Voldemort so that’s saying something.”
She rubbed her temple. “Next time I ask a rhetorical question please don’t answer.”
“Ah, I’m having difficulty with sarcasm at the moment.” She pointed to the side of her head that hadn’t been injured. “Head wound.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You hurt the opposite side.”
She smirked.
Pansy shook her head and went back to the potions stock. Aside from the basics, it was brimming with pain, anti-inflammatory, muscle-soothing, and brain tonics. “Idiot adrenaline junkies,” she muttered.
“What do you have against quidditch?” Weasley demanded. “I seem to recall you draping yourself over Malfoy before and after every game he played.”
She cringed. “Can we just agree right now not to bring up anything from Hogwarts for the next six weeks?”
“Sure, if you tell me why you hate quidditch so much.”
She turned to face her. “Do you know what my specialty is?”
“Something where your patients are always unconscious?”
“Pediatrics.”
Her face scrunched up. “You want to work with children?”
Again with the judgement. “I do, and I happen to be quite excellent at it,” she said. “Now, please ask yourself why someone specializing in pediatrics would need to spend six weeks shadowing a professional quidditch team?”
Her lips tugged up in an arrogant grin. “Six weeks off from pus and boils and snotty noses to get free quidditch tickets to the best team in the league?”
“It’s because every single time you or anyone like you makes the front page of the Prophet’s Sports and Games section executing a perfect Spiral Dive or Sloth Grip Roll, I get a dozen children in emergency with bones sticking out their skin—or worse—because they thought they could do the same thing!”
Her face fell. “That’s not—”
“I have had to put more children back together and console more weeping, horrified parents than you could ever imagine thanks to your version of the Chelmondiston Charge so, yes, I do believe that you and every other professional quidditch player out there are irresponsible and misuse your position and privilege to inspire children to hurt themselves because I see it every single day.”
Her cheeks darkened. “Obviously anyone can get injured if they don’t use proper precautions—”
She grinned. “Like following concussion protocols?”
Her mouth snapped shut.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t ignore your injury on purpose and sneak in here tonight for a pain potion without anyone knowing so you wouldn’t be at risk for being benched the next match.”
Her shoulders dropped and she shifted on her seat.
“When you are a role model, what you do matters,” she said. “At a minimum you could prioritize your own health and safety but no, being a starter for the next match is more important than risking permanent brain injury.”
Weasley just stared at her lap. With a huff, Pansy turned back, blindly banging potions about without actually reorganizing them.
It wasn’t entirely fair to blame Weasley alone, she was just so fucking pissed off about the fact that she was in this stupid town in stupid Wales doing a stupid rotation with a stupid quidditch team that inspired children to do stupid things and all she had for lodgings was that stupid couch with its stupid lumps—
“I’m sorry.”
She glanced over her shoulder at a rather contrite Weasley. It wasn’t something she could say she’d seen before.
“I mean, I don’t agree with everything you said, but a lot of it was right and I should think about that more.”
She folded her arms, wondering exactly what parts Weasley disagreed with and mentally preparing her counter-arguments.
“It’s just…after Harry and I broke up, I didn’t have to be the Chosen One’s girlfriend anymore,” she said. “I could be… me. I didn’t have to worry about every little thing I said or did tarnishing his reputation—”
She snorted. “Because Theo worries so much about that?” Of course, that was mostly in private. In public he was the proper doting, devoted fiancé the press fawned over.
“Well, he’s a man, isn’t he?” Weasley asked. “It’s different for them.”
It always was.
“But I forget sometimes that people pay attention to more than just the Chosen One.”
After the years she spent living in his shadow she could see why it would be hard to believe anything else.
For the first time, Weasley wasn’t brimming with her typical swagger. She looked defeated and possibly a little bit hurt.
A tendril of something close to guilt ran through her.
Pansy sighed. “I should apologize as well,” she said. “I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations with all professional quidditch players out on you alone. My lack of living situation is making me more irritable than normal.”
Weasley cleared her throat. “I actually might have a solution to that one,” she said. “Mel’s sister lives in town and has a semi-private room in their house that she and her husband rent out for summer and for games but they’re not offering it this season.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why not? What’s the catch?”
“Rachel—Mel’s sister—is a paranoid hypochondriac—Mel’s words, not mine—with a five and a half month old baby.” She cringed as soon as she finished her sentence, as if a mother worrying about her children and needing extra reassurance during the child’s first year of life was something to dread.
“So free medical care in exchange for a proper bed and doxy-free housing?” Was that all?
“Yep.”
“I will be there as soon as Rachel approves it.” She hoped to Merlin the woman did. She’d take just about anything at this point but clean and comfortable sounded almost too good to be true.
Weasley beamed. “I do have a spare bedroom you can crash in tonight—” She started to jump off the table but Pansy flicked her wand at her.
“You have at least another hour of observation, if you cannot sit still I will use a sticking charm.”
She slumped back onto the table with a pout. “You’re scarier than my mum sometimes.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult? “Well, at least you’ll never walk in on me fucking a man on a countertop.”
She smirked. “Let me guess, only on beds made up with sheets of acromantula silk?”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Oh, it wasn’t the countertop that I’d object to.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she broke into a grin. Then realization dawned across her face and her expression fell. “Oh, that’s why you…”
This was why she didn’t talk about it, everyone was always so dramatic about it. “My parents could not have cared less about my sexuality, they were enraged when I broke my betrothal contract and refused to accept another.”
Taking lovers was practically expected amongst their set. The fact that she’d never take a man as one would have made her even more desirable of a wife to anyone her parents considered appropriate. No need to worry about messy bloodline accidents.
“I’m still sorry, Pansy, that—”
She cut her off before it could get worse. “It’s been three and a half years, I’m over it, and weeping into bosoms has never been my thing.”
A hint of a smirk teased her mouth. “To be fair, there are much more interesting things to do with them.”
She beamed. “Exactly.” She cast a tempus charm. “Another hour yet.”
Weasley swung her legs back and forth. “Just so I know…what are the chances—”
Of course that’s where her mind was. “If your diagnostic is clear at the end of two hours, you can return to normal activity tomorrow per standard protocol.”
Her eyes immediately lit up.
“I won’t report you for failing to follow concussion protocol as a thank you for finding me a place to stay but if you so much as sneeze too hard and don’t see a healer, I will personally ensure you are benched for the remainder of my rotation.”
She looked like she was fighting back a grin. “Thanks, Parkinson.”
January 12 — Day 6
“Alright, Weasley, let’s see the damage.”
She was already shrugging one arm out of her quidditch kit. Pansy had to admit that the dark green and gold was far better for her complexion and hair color than the ghastly Gryffindor red had been.
“It’s not that bad, I was just told by a very scary healer that I needed to come see her for the slightest papercut.”
She angled her arm, examining the mottled bruising. “I do not believe those were my exact words.”
“No, it was something about sneezing too hard but I feel like I was fairly true to the initial intent.”
Weasley had taken a glancing blow from a bludger an hour into the match. It made for an impressive bruise but luckily no broken bones. It wouldn’t take too much to fix up. “Give me a minute, going to take me a bit longer than normal with your big bones.”
She sat up taller. “Big bones? What the hell, Parkinson, did you seriously just call me fat?”
She couldn’t help her smirk. “Pediatrics, remember?” she said. “Most of my patients are at least half your size.”
Weasley rolled her eyes.
Pansy’s smirk spread. She began weaving the charms to heal the torn blood vessels and reduce the swelling. She applied a balm just to be certain but any injury would be gone by the morning. Once the obvious was taken care of, she ran an extra diagnostic to make sure Weasley didn’t miss anything.
“The team’s going out tonight to celebrate,” Weasley said as the light from her spell faded. “You should come.”
“I have to spend every day of the next five weeks taking care of you idiots, what makes you think I’m going to do it on my downtime?”
Weasley hopped down from the table and nudged her. “Not to take care of us, to come out and have fun,” she said. “You do know how to have fun, don’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, and trying to goad me into proving it will not work, Weasley.”
“Ginny.”
She glanced up from putting away the bruise ointment and arched an eyebrow.
“You can stop calling me ‘Weasley.’” She gave her a small smile. “Friends call me Ginny.”
“Bully for them.” She walked over to the cupboard where bandages were kept. Gwenog would need her wrists wrapped again if she wanted to start next week.
Weasley—Ginny—laughed. “Oh, come on, Pansy,” she said. “You don’t think we’re friends?”
“I don’t, and the offer is entirely unnecessary.” She turned from the cupboard with her selected wrap. “I already have four.”
Her eyes widened and then her face fell. “Oh, Pansy,” she said. “I really meant it, I’ll be your friend.”
It took her a moment to realize Ginny was staring at her with pity. “You think the fact that I have four friends is due to a lack of options rather than possession of standards?”
Her lips quirked. “I have spoken to you every day for the past six days so, no, it would not surprise me.”
“Very cute, Ginevra.”
“Thank you, I am, and don’t call me that.”
“Well, you said not to call you Weasley and your friends call you Ginny so I’m running out of options.” She turned to her. “What is your middle name? I could try that?”
“Even worse.” She turned away and started walking towards the showers. “Eight tonight at The Griffin.”
“Have a lovely time with your friends, I will see you tomorrow morning.”
Ginny only smirked.
Shortly after eight that evening, when Pansy found herself participating in a round of shots with the Holyhead Harpies starting and reserve chasers, she glanced across the table to a smirking set of cinnamon brown eyes and wondered if she had met her match.
January 26 — Day 20
As Pansy left the pitch through the back door of the training room, Theo, Potter, Draco, and Granger were waiting for her.
Theo cracked a grin. “Enjoy the match?”
Unlike the four of them who’d been nice and cozy as guests in the owner’s box, she’d been stuck sitting on a broom, hovering by the coaching staff in case she needed to get to an injury quickly. At least the weather had been less miserable than normal, which meant cold and drizzly instead of pelting frozen shards like the matches the first two weeks of her rotation.
Luckily, the match didn’t hit the three hour mark and no one sustained a major injury. She’d had a few bludger-related bruises to heal up and old injuries to check over but was out of the training room before most of the team finished up in the showers.
Granger flashed her a sympathetic smile from where she stood sheltered in Draco’s arms. “Hey, halfway done, right?”
Despite the abject misery of being outside on a broom during every match in Wales in January, the rotation—she would admit to absolutely no one—hadn’t been quite as awful as she’d initially believed.
Rachel, for one, was a delightful host. Perhaps a little more on the cautious and anxious side when it came to her daughter, but perfectly understandable for a new mother.
The part that surprised her the most, however, was that she found she was actually enjoying getting to know a Weasley. Despite her impulsiveness, Ginny was surprisingly sharp and had a quick wit Pansy found absolutely delightful.
She was relentless in her pursuit to get Pansy to like quidditch—no matter how many times Pansy insisted she did like quidditch, just not the risk-inducing behavior part of it—and to become a Harpies fan.
It wasn’t half as bad as her unending pursuit to make Pansy her friend, however. That experience had lead to more than one slight detour turned new excursion and if it wasn’t for the presence of her friends and their poor choice in partners who happened to be friends with Ginny as well, she would have fled the moment she had the chance.
The door behind her burst open. “Sorry, I tried to be quick so you weren’t all—” Ginny’s words broke off into a sharp shriek and she ran forward to throw herself at Pansy. “You wore it, you wore it!”
She took a step back with a grunt, needing to brace herself to support Ginny’s weight. She was unfortunately all too familiar with her post-match exuberance. “I wouldn’t have if I’d know this would be your reaction.”
Ginny pulled back with a laugh and adjusted the Harpies scarf she’d been trying to force on Pansy since her very first match. “Harpies colors look good on you,” she said before turning to greet the others.
As she rambled on with Potter about the various plays of the match, Pansy felt the weight of three curious stares on her.
Fucking busybodies. Between Theo, Draco, and Granger, she wasn’t sure who was worse. Potter, thankfully, was as delightful unaware as ever of anything that wasn’t an evil witch or wizard, quidditch, or Theodore Nott.
“Alright, you all ready?” Ginny skipped back to Pansy and linked their arms.
“See you there,” Draco said before he and Granger disapparated with a pop. Theo and Potter followed moments later.
Ginny smirked at Pansy.
“Ginevra Weasley if you even think about taking—”
Ginny spun and yanked her along before she even had a chance to finish her sentence.
They landed on a cliff, buffeted on all sides by strong winds.
She rounded on her smirking kidnapper. “Ginevra—”
“Yes, yes, just look!” She tugged her right up to the edge.
Below them, she could see the entire town of Holyhead. Out in the ocean a distance away was the lighthouse Ginny made her walk to on her “short tour” of the city. The ocean was choppy today, swells crashing against the rocky shore line and cliffs that bordered the island.
Even in winter, the island had a rugged beauty to it that was undeniable. Come spring when the landscape was green and verdant once more, it had to be stunning.
Ginny seemed to be thinking the same thing. “After we win the League Cup, you’re coming back with me this summer and we’re hiking all the way up here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, even muggles do it!”
“She’s right,” Granger said, walking over and interrupting their conversation. “I came with my parents when I was ten.”
Draco frowned. “I thought this site is warded against muggles.”
Granger beamed. “Yes,” she said. “They just see rubble from what they believe is an old fort. The place is literally named Caer y Twr, Fort of the Pile.”
The view was nice but surely all that exertion for rubble was ridiculous. “So they climb up to look at a pile of rocks?”
“The joy is in the adventure,” Ginny said.
“I, of course, could see the castle and wanted to come explore,” Granger said. “My parents thought I was about to step right off a cliff.” She frowned. “Got a rather stern talking to about reckless behavior and making up stories, actually.”
“Glad to see the conversation about avoiding reckless behavior stuck,” Pansy drawled.
Granger only laughed. “Come on, I’m freezing and Draco promised the best view from the restaurant anyway.”
The dinner at Castell Caergybi was legendary, made even more so at their table by the windows overlooking the sprawling magical gardens and the sea beyond. The presence of the star chaser for the Harpies, the Chosen One, the Golden Girl, and the two wizards with the deepest pockets in Britain—even if one of them did own a rival quidditch team—made for particularly excellent service and preferential treatment.
“So, how has your new healer trainee been?” Theo asked Ginny, flashing Pansy a smirk.
“Bossy and complains all the time even when she’s secretly enjoying herself,” she answered brightly.
“I do not complain all of the time and as soon as I start to enjoy myself, I will let you know,” Pansy replied.
Ginny smirked. “Exactly like that,” she said. “I’ve nearly had to drag her everywhere we’ve gone.”
Granger sat up straighter. “Where all is that?”
Pansy ticked off her fingers. “First week was hiking out to the lighthouse, but she’s also made me fly the entire shore of the island with her and a completely unnecessary walk to visit a pile of rocks.”
“Trefignath,” Ginny said.
“Ooh, we always forget to visit that when we’re here,” Granger said. “What did you think?”
Asking seemed entirely unnecessary—a pile of rocks was a pile of rocks, after all—and she had no doubt from the frown on Draco’s face that he would take her before they left in the morning in order to correct such a glaring oversight on his part, but she let Ginny chatter on about the rubble to both their heart’s content.
The courses passed with easy laughter. At one point, Ginny and Draco got up to go see something or other in the hotel and Theo slid straight into her seat.
“So,” he said, “you and Ginny seem close.”
She cringed. “She’s taken it upon herself to force me into friendship.”
Potter grinned. “That’s great, Pansy.”
“Apparently the four I have isn’t enough.”
Granger frowned. “Four? What about Tracey?”
The only one of her former friends aside from Theo and Draco who didn’t stop talking to her after she was disowned. “You and Potter take turns in spot four,” she said. “Both of you at the same time is unmanageable.”
Granger rolled her eyes.
Potter sat up straighter. “Who is it today?”
She sipped her champagne. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“Because Ginny’s in spot four?” Theo wagged his eyebrows. “Or does she have her own special spot?”
Pansy cocked her head, playing dumb. “What do you mean by that?”
“You can have more than four friends,” Granger muttered.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to disqualify yourself from the spot today,” Potter told her.
“Ginny’s fit,” Theo said.
“Oh, are you and Potter considering a triad?” she asked. “The press will love—”
Theo wasn’t going to be deterred. “Have you noticed how fit she is?”
“She’s a professional quidditch player, they all are,” she said. “Anyone who spends that much time training on a broom is.”
He nodded, a hint of a smirk tugging his lips. “Really builds up the thigh muscles in particular,” he said. “All that time riding.”
She ignored his crass implications. Or pretended to. “Being attracted to women doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of being friends with one.”
“Dammit, can’t believe Ginny took spot four,” Potter muttered.
“Harry, you can have more than four friends, Pansy’s just having us on,” Granger said.
“Will you keep this up?” he asked her. “I might get permanently put in spot four.”
Theo ignored them. “So you admit you’re friends?”
“Friendly acquaintances,” she said.
“Hmm,” he said, smirking as if he didn’t quite believe her. “Okay.”
“She plays quidditch, Theo,” she said. “That ruins my interest in just about anyone.”
His face lit up with triumph. “So you admit you would be interested in her if it wasn’t for quidditch?”
“No,” she said, “just stating yet another reason your implications are entirely ridiculous.”
He looked smug. “She’s been awfully affectionate.”
“She’s affectionate with everyone.”
Potter nodded. “I’m with Pansy on this one.”
“Harry, no one is going to take you seriously if all you do is agree with Pansy,” Granger said.
He nodded towards the front of the restaurant. “I mean, she did just hug Draco.”
They glanced over in time to see Ginny tighten her arms around a very uncomfortable looking Draco. Granger started snickering.
“Merlin, what is that, the fifth time he’s received platonic affection in his entire life?” Theo asked.
“It’s a Weasley thing,” Granger said.
“Yes, to the Prophet’s extreme glee and Draco’s extreme horror,” Theo said.
Anytime Granger and Ron saw one another, there was at least one photo of an embrace or arm around her shoulders or waist that sent the gossips into a tizzy. Ginny and Potter got it less because she flirted outrageously with Theo anytime she was around him and Potter but the gossip rags still looked for any sign that the Golden Trio would return to their school age relationships.
Gag.
Ginny walked back up to the table and nudged Theo back to his spot. “You didn’t eat or drink anything from my spot, did you?” She held her champagne glass up to the light. “Or add anything to it?”
Theo frowned. “Why on earth would I do that?”
She shrugged. “If you’d grown up with Fred and George or Charlie, you wouldn’t trust anyone taking your seat either,” she said. “What did I miss?”
“I’m Pansy’s fourth friend today,” Potter said proudly.
“No, it’s definitely Granger,” Pansy said.
He gasped and Granger preened. “What?” Potter demanded. “Why?”
“Desperation isn’t a good look on anyone, darling.”
Theo smirked as Potter pouted.
“Wait, since when is spot four up for grabs?” Ginny asked.
“Since always, and people who perform modified Chelmondiston Charges are immediately disqualified from the rotation,” Pansy said.
For a moment, she saw a flicker of something cross her expression and she felt a twinge of guilt.
“Ginny, that was wicked,” Potter said. “How long did it take you to master that?”
Grinning, she fell back into quidditch talk.
Pansy just hoped the stunt wasn’t front page of the sports section the next day.
January 27 — Day 21
Pansy was wrong. Ginny’s spectacular goal didn’t make the front of the sports page.
It was the front of the entire Prophet.
Ginny burst into the training office a quarter hour before practice. The moment she saw the Prophet on Pansy’s desk, she cringed. “Please don’t be mad—”
Pansy didn’t look up from the inventory list she was reviewing. “I’m not mad—”
“I listened to what you said, but I’m not going to stop doing my job and that does involve performing tricks,” she said. “I can’t help what the Prophet prints but I’m working on something so if you could just give me—”
She finally lifted her head. “Ginevra.”
She pressed her lips together.
Mollified she’d ceased her rambling, Pansy continued. “I’m not mad at you,” she said again. “I told you last time, I was frustrated with a lot of things, it wasn’t fair of me to put the blame of your entire profession on your shoulders alone.”
Did she still hate when quidditch tricks were featured in the paper, knowing children were going to try to copy them and end up injured? Yes. But the blame was shared with the Prophet reporters who printed it in the first place and office staff for encouraging players to perform tricks to sell tickets as much as players for trying them in the first place.
Ginny seemed to deflate a bit. “Oh,” she said. “Okay.”
Pansy returned to her paperwork.
Ginny cleared her throat. “Are you free next Thursday afternoon?”
With the packed schedule, it was one of her few times off. In addition to all of her work with the rotation, she still had exams to study for and cases to memorize. “Why?” What Merlin-forsaken tour did she want to take her on next?
“I have this thing planned,” she said. “I want you to see it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are those the only details?”
“Meet at the pitch and wear something warm and comfortable.”
That still gave her absolutely nothing.
“Nice flowers,” Ginny blurted. “Are they…for you?”
She grinned at the giant bouquet on her desk. “Thank you, they are.”
“Oh,” Ginny said. “Well, that was sweet.”
Filled with yellow and white zinnias and pansies as well as apple blossoms and springs of eucalyptus, it came with a card that read, Devotion is not the same as desperation. Hope your week is well. Your friend, Harry Potter.
Zinnias were a sign of everlasting friendship, apple blossoms were for preference, pansies were for someone the sender thought of often, and eucalyptus was for protection and to strengthen the bond of friendship. There was no way Potter knew floriography so Theo obviously had been consulted but it still made her laugh every time she saw them.
“Anyway, next Thursday,” Ginny said. “See you there.”
She fled before Pansy could press her for any further details.
January 31 — Day 25
The moment Pansy appeared on the pitch at the appointed time, she froze. A dozen children, all under the age of ten, were spread out across the grass, each dressed in quidditch gear and holding a broom.
Ginny beamed at her from the center and waived.
Fury snapped through her. Pansy started to storm across the field.
Ginny’s grin only spread as she approached. “Don’t freak out just yet.” She passed her a brochure.
Want to play quidditch for your house team at Hogwarts? Do you dream of performing the same feats as your favorite professional players? Join a Holyhead Quidditch camp! Learn from your favorite professional players how to build your skills and perform them safely.
“Kids aren’t going to stop trying dumb things, on brooms or otherwise,” Ginny said. “Teaching them how to build skills so they can try tricks when they’re ready, and the important safety stuff like having someone with them when they’re flying and when they need a spotter, is going to prevent more injuries than just telling them not to copy professionals.”
Pansy finally glanced up into her bright earnest gaze.
“I know part of the reason I’ve always been so good is because I had six older brothers who looked out for me and taught me how to build the basics first.” A rueful smirk tugged her lips. “Figured that was a privilege I could extend to others.”
For a minute, Pansy could only stare at her. She looked so happy, so proud, her cinnamon brown eyes brimming with excitement. As Pansy stared into them, she was met with a swift and undeniable urge to kiss the witch.
Fuck. She was in so much fucking trouble.
Ginny’s expression fell just a bit and her heart clenched. “Sorry,” she said, her voice sounding small. “Did I make it worse?”
“No,” she said. “This is…” She cleared her throat. “This is brilliant.”
Ginny was exactly right, focusing on safety and building skills gradually was going to do far more to prevent injuries than simply forbidding dangerous activities.
Ginny’s joyful excitement returned, even brighter than before.
Pansy looked down at the brochure before she did something stupid like take Ginny’s hair out of its ponytail and find out if she’d make those same noises she did the last time she ran her fingers through it.
“The main focus is on building skills, but parents are invited to watch the sessions so they can learn how to help coach and what to watch out for,” Ginny said. “Obviously we’ll never cut out all injuries, but if parents know how to help and kids aren’t sneaking off and trying dangerous stuff it should cut down on it a lot.”
This witch was going to ruin her.
“We’re going to run sessions throughout the year, and do training camps for school aged kids in the summers,” she said. “Draco, Theo, and Harry set up a scholarship fund so anyone who wants to participate can join.”
She remembered Ginny’s excuse to get Draco alone at their dinner the other week. “You’ve been planning this for a while?”
She grinned and nodded. “Since your first week here,” she said. “Draco’s going to implement it at the Falcons and I talked with Oliver and he’s going to start it at Puddlemore. Honestly it’s a really good way to get an eye on young talent.”
Her eyebrow flicked up.
Ginny held her hands up. “Not saying that’s why I did it, I’m just saying that’ll convince more teams to do it,” she said. “I’m hoping it’ll spread through the league by next year.”
Her heart thundered inside her chest. No one had ever done something like this for her before. Normally no one listened to her complain, especially when she was at her bitchiest, but Ginny had not only heard every word, she’d taken it upon herself to do something about it.
That alone made it the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.
“This is…” She swallowed. “Thank you.”
“Thanks for the idea.”
As if they had been equal partners in it, not just an irate grump bitching to the first person to listen.
Ginny practically skipped over to the center of the pitch. “Alright!” she said with a magically magnified voice. “Who’s ready to learn some tricks?”
The children all cheered alongside the three other Harpies players that had joined Ginny. Pansy walked over to the low risers where parents were sitting. Thanks to Rachel, she already knew three of them.
Lydia waved and scooted over to make a spot for her.
Pansy took the seat and then scanned the field. “Beth isn’t…”
“She’s been talking about nothing else all week,” Lydia said. She nodded towards a tiny figure clutching a broom for dear life.
She was only six, but an absolute spitfire. She stared up at Ginny through her speech with nothing short of hero worship.
Pansy was starting to become familiar with the feeling.
The players had them fly around the pitch, noting their baseline skills, and then divided them into groups accordingly.
Ginny took the youngest group—because of course she did—and Pansy thought she was going to melt straight into the field.
“I want to do the Chelmondiston Charge!” Beth said, jumping up and down.
Ginny laughed. “Alright, it’s going to take a lot of practice and a lot of hard work,” she said. “Most professional quidditch players can’t do it, so if you want to try you have to learn very carefully, okay?”
Beth nodded. “I am, I am, I am!” she said, jumping up and down.
“Okay, let’s get started on the basics first.”
As Ginny led her tiny pack through various drills, Pansy felt herself melt more and more with each safety lesson and follow up and reminder to always bring their parents or have a buddy with them. Her captive audience listened along with rapt attention, soaking in every detail she had to offer.
Watching her out there, seeing her ease with the children and her joy that was almost as exuberant as theirs, Pansy knew what she had been saying for the past three and a half weeks had never been more true.
She did not want to be Ginny Weasley’s friend.
February 7 — Day 32
“Hey, did you hear the Tornadoes started their own program?”
Ginny sat down on the bench next to her minutes before their meeting. Her warm thigh pressed right against Pansy’s and she had to remind herself to breathe.
The team meeting was not the place to straddle Ginny and find out if she always made the same noises when anyone ran their fingers through her hair.
She only had ten days left and didn’t know how she would make it without seeing Ginny’s easy smile each day once she moved back to London. Wanting her and not having her was agony but it was surely better than not seeing her at all.
She smiled instead. “That’s great,” she said. “What is that, half the league now?”
“Just over.” Her eyes snagged on something over Pansy’s shoulder.
She followed her glance but didn’t see anything other than a view of her desk through the training room door.
“Those are even bigger than last week’s.”
Potter’s latest delivery was an elaborate arrangement of camellias interspersed with chamomile, hawthorn, and dogwood—symbols of longing and hope and overcoming adversity in love. She smirked. “I know.”
Fresh flowers were one of her favorite things in the world so she’d only encouraged Potter by challenging him to actually impress her. Theo surely saw straight through it but clearly found it as amusing as her if he was helping Potter with the floral selections.
Unless he’d gone for outside help. She could see Longbottom enjoying this as much as Potter. Either way, her office smelled beautiful and she had something bright to look at each day.
Ginny shifted on the seat next to her, moving to get a better glimpse of her face but it had the unfortunate effect of moving her thigh away from hers. “Groveling or just being ostentatious?”
She laughed. “Both.”
It still reeked of desperation but maybe she’d put Granger in spot four and allow Potter a fifth spot.
After several more bouquets and a fair amount more groveling, of course.
“Well, hope it works out.”
Pansy cocked her head. The forced look on her face didn’t fit her usual demeanor. Since when wasn’t she bubbling over with whatever first thing came to her mind? “Everything okay?”
“Yep,” she said, sounding anything but.
The arrival of the coaching staff cut off any further chance of discussion. Ginny volunteered almost immediately to help with something, and then sat at the front of the room for the rest of the meeting.
Pansy had to resist the urge to bang her head against the wall behind her. Was she being too flirty? Too forward? Could Ginny tell how she felt and was trying to signal her to back off?
It wasn’t the first time she’d had a crush on a witch who didn’t want her back and probably wouldn’t be the last.
Still, as the meeting finally wrapped up and Ginny swept out of the room with her usual swagger and not a glimpse back, Pansy couldn’t help but feel this time was different. Something about it was going to hurt a lot more than it had in the past.
It already was.
February 14 — Day 39
Ginny hardly spared her a glance as Pansy walked up to where she was organizing the training equipment. For the past six days, Ginny had all but ignored her. She acted polite and civil when they were forced to be around each other but that was all. It was such a stark contrast to her bubbling overtures of friendship the first month that Pansy knew she’d fucked something up.
She just had no idea what. Or how to make it right.
She only had four days left and it was back to London. The thought of things ending like this was an extra layer of agony to no longer seeing her each day.
“Hey,” she said cautiously.
“Didn’t think I’d see you today,” Ginny said, reshuffling things and repeating her actions.
“I didn’t want to miss it.” Not after seeing her interact with the kids during the first two training sessions. “I talked to the scheduler and could make it work to keep coming up each Thursday.”
Because clearly she’d become an absolute masochist and had lost any sense of self-preservation when it came to the witch in front of her.
“Sure,” Ginny said, her tone and countenance flat.
“I certainly don’t have to,” she said, a hint of a bite slipping into her tone.
Ginny closed her eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “I just…of course you’re welcome anytime.”
“Are we okay?” she asked, her voice soft.
Ginny’s eyes flew open and met hers. For a moment, she looked almost embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said again. “Yeah, no, it’s not you, I’m just…” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”
That still told her absolutely nothing.
Ginny flashed her a grin that didn’t meet her eyes. “I saw the flowers,” she said. “You must have decided to forgive her.”
She blinked. “What?”
She went back to making a bigger mess of the equipment than it was when Pansy first walked up. “Whoever you have Valentine’s plans with tonight,” she said. “Is she someone you met here or have you been dating for a while?”
She’d never been so confused by a conversation in her life. “What are you talking about? I’m not dating anyone.”
Ginny’s gaze snapped up to hers, eyes wide right before they narrowed in accusation. “You told Laura you couldn’t come out tonight because you have Valentine’s plans.”
The reserve seeker planned a singles night for anyone who didn’t have a date. Ginny initially said she wasn’t sure but confirmed a week ago that she was going. Pansy didn’t ask. She wasn’t sure she could take it if Ginny’s bad mood lately was because whoever she wanted wasn’t interested in her back.
They were a giant fucking idiot, whoever they were. Anyone who didn’t get on their knees for Ginny Weasley the moment she showed the slightest interest was.
“Yeah, I’m babysitting Amber so Rachel and Jackson can go out for the first time since before she was born.”
Ginny blinked. “What about the witch who keeps sending you flowers?”
“What witch—” She froze. “Are you talking about all the bouquets I’ve been getting from Harry?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Potter?” she asked. “Harry Potter has been sending you flowers?”
“Yes.” She’d said that. Surely she’d said it. Everyone knew Harry was sending her flowers, there was no reason Ginny wouldn’t know unless…
Something curled through her.
Was Ginny jealous?
Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but before she could get whatever it was out, Gwen yelled at her from across the pitch. “Weasley, let’s go!”
She hesitated for a brief moment before turning and jogging away, leaving Pansy at the edge of the pitch by all the equipment with more questions than answers.
February 14 — Still Day 39
The moment she sat down on the couch—after following Rachel’s bedtime instructions to the letter, including the ridiculous request of staring at her daughter until she fell asleep and triple checking the alert charms over her crib—someone knocked on the door.
She could probably ignore it. Should ignore it if she wanted any peace. Still, she couldn’t forget she was a guest in their home and the least she could do was be polite to their friends.
Groaning, she got up from the couch and walked over to the door. The moment she opened it, she froze.
Ginny Weasley stood on the stoop with perfectly smokey eye makeup and killer red lipstick, wearing a black dress that was positively sinful. Her long auburn hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders.
Pansy wanted to run her hands through her hair, to feel the long, muscular legs she’d tried so hard not to openly ogle for the past two weeks wrapped around her.
It wasn’t fair for her to show up looking like everything Pansy had ever wanted and never deserved to have.
The contrast between them had never been so sharp, and it went far deeper than Ginny’s incredible outfit and Pansy’s loose cotton pants and t-shirt.
Ginny was a celebrity in her own right, not just due to what she’d done in school and during the war. She was good and kind and loyal and funny and devoted and gorgeous. All Pansy had to offer was an overdeveloped sense of self-preservation and snarky attitude.
“Are you single?” Ginny blurted out.
Pansy blinked. “What?”
“Are you single?” Ginny asked. “Is there anyone you’re seeing or…want to be seeing?”
Those were two very different questions. “I’m single,” she said. “Not seeing anyone.”
“Is there someone though?” she pressed. “Someone you want to be seeing?”
Her grip tightened on the handle. “What are you asking me, Ginevra?”
Her eyes rolled back. “You can’t call me that, it’s not fucking fair,” she said. “You just—fuck—I…”
Her heart thundered in her chest. She stepped backwards and opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”
“Sure,” she muttered weakly, following her over the threshold.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asked as soon as she shut the door behind her.
“No.” She drew in a deep breath. “I asked Laura to plan the singles night thing. You were supposed to be there and I was going to show up and then…”
Pansy took a step closer. “Then what?”
Her throat bobbed. Then her face tightened. “Then you started getting these incredible flowers delivered like all the time and made plans for Valentine’s Day and it made sense because you’re, well, you, and turns out it’s just my fucking dumbass ex-boyfriend who’s in some stupid competition with Hermione he made up himself—”
She took a step closer and Ginny broke off. Reaching out, she tucked a piece of hair back behind her ear and Ginny shuddered.
A thrill shot through her. She was going to ruin her.
“There is someone.”
Ginny’s face fell and her cheeks pinked. “Oh, right.” She started to turn to go. “That makes sense, I didn’t mean to—”
Pansy wrapped her arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Can I tell you about her?” She drew circles over her waist, her thumb sliding against the silky material. “She’s stubborn and can be quite the idiot far too often for how smart she is.”
Her mouth dropped open in protest.
“She’s reckless and has no concept of self-preservation and tries the most ridiculous things thinking she can get away with them and—for some reason I will never understand—usually does.”
“You’re not being very nice,” Ginny muttered.
She smiled at her. “Would you like to see me be nice, Ginevra?”
“I hate my full name.”
“You like hearing it from me.”
“I think I’d like just about anything from you.”
Pansy combed her fingers through her hair. Ginny shuddered in her arms.
“Fuck, you—” Ginny’s words broke off into a weak whine.
“If you insist,” she whispered right before her lips crashed into hers.
The kiss was everything.
Her lips were soft and pliant beneath hers. Pansy’s hands slid deep through the locks of her hair, angling her head just so. Ginny’s answering groan sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. She pulled away from her lips to kiss across her jaw. Brushing the hair off her neck—to the sound of another delicious moan—she kissed down her neck and up towards her ear.
Ginny gasped when her lips found a spot just beneath her ear. Pansy tugged her hair lightly and she thought the witch beneath her would combust.
“I’m sorry,” Ginny gasped.
“For not saying anything to me for the past ten days and being jealous of your ex-boyfriend who’s engaged to another man?”
“That,” she said. “But also I just have this thing when my hair gets played with that’s—”
Panay ran her fingernails lightly across her scalp and Ginny bit down on her lower lip to muffle her groan.
Pansy pressed her thumb to her lip to pull it away from her teeth. “I’ve been dreaming about getting you to make the noises you do for the last two weeks,” she said. “Don’t hold back.”
Their lips met again and this time she could feel Ginny’s moan echo through her entire body. It was everything she’d ever wanted or needed.
Turning them, she pushed the witch against the wall next to the door. Ginny wrapped her hands around Pansy’s neck as her thigh slid up and around Pansy’s hip to anchor her close.
Pansy pulled one hand out of her hair and Ginny let out a whine of protest. Pansy’s lips slid down her neck as her hand skimmed up Ginny’s thigh.
“I have been dreaming about these thighs for weeks,” she whispered into her ear as Ginny dropped her head back and gasped. “I don’t know if I want to ride them or bury my face between them first.”
“Both,” Ginny whimpered. Her hands slid under Pansy’s shirt and it was her turn to shudder as her long fingers stroked her skin, sliding up towards her chest. “Let’s do both, right now.”
“You’re going to have to pick—” She broke off in a gasp as Ginny cupped her breasts.
Ginny groaned. “Why am I not surprised you’re wearing silk lace just to babysit?”
She slid her hand up and around Ginny’s thigh to cup her arse and ground her own thigh against her core. “Because the only time I’m not wearing silk and lace is when I’m wearing nothing.”
“Fuck,” Ginny whimpered. “How far is it to your room?”
“Too far,” she breathed into her neck. She’d get her off once against the wall and then take her back to her room, strip her completely, and then spend the rest of the night between her thighs.
Just as she slid her hand up Ginny’s skirt, the pop of apparation right outside the door made them jump.
Pansy just managed to untangle herself from Ginny and smooth out her clothes as Rachel and Jackson walked through the door.
“Hey!” Rachel said. “How did tonight—oh, hi, Ginny!”
Ginny flashed her a brief grin.
Behind Rachel, Jackson started to smirk.
Rachel smiled brightly at Pansy. “Did everything go well?”
She nodded. “Yeah, great, she ate well and took her bottle and has been sound asleep for a while now.”
“Did she—”
“Hey, hon,” Jackson said, “we should let Pansy and Ginny enjoy their Valentine’s Day.”
Her eyebrows knit for a moment before they brightened. “Oh! Yes, of course!” She leaned towards Pansy. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she whispered, even though everyone in the room could hear her.
“This is the first I’ve seen you since it happened,” she whispered back.
Ginny grabbed her hand and started to pull her towards her room. “Great to see you two, hope you had a lovely Valentine’s Day but we’ll leave you two alone so you can enjoy it!”
“Mel owes me ten galleons,” Jackson said the moment they disappeared down the hallway towards Pansy’s room.
She casted the strongest privacy charms she knew and then turned back to Ginny.
She stood in the center of the room, quiet and still.
Her heart clenched at the uncertainty in her gaze. Had she already changed her mind? “What is it?”
“This…this is real, right?”
Relief washed over her. Walking over, she cupped her cheeks in her hands. “Of course.”
“Because I…I like you. Like really like you.”
A smirk tugged up her lips. “I like you too, Ginevra.”
“I know we said we were just friends but—”
Pansy slid her fingers up through the back of her scalp and Ginny whimpered. “I believe I was quite clear you are not my friend.”
“Of course we are,” Ginny said.
“Sorry, Harry Potter just took my last available friend spot by making you jealous of him.” Well, spot five. He was still behind Granger.
“I was not jealous of him—”
Her smirk spread.“Morgana, I can’t wait until he finds out about this.”
Her eyes flew open and she glared. “He’s never going to find out because neither one of us will ever tell him.”
She hummed as if still making up her mind.
Ginny grabbed her arms and flipped her onto the bed, pinning her down with a fierce look. “You aren’t going to tell him.”
She sighed. “Alright, fine.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Promise me.”
“I swear to you that I will never tell Harry Potter you were jealous of him sending me flowers.” She’d just tell Theo and have him tell Potter.
Ginny kissed a line up her neck as she tugged up her shirt. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
Pansy yanked it the rest of the way off and grinned as Ginny’s eyes widened as they drifted over her torso. “You are welcome to hold me to anything you want.”
“Shut up and kiss me.” Ginny’s mouth crashed against hers and, for once, Pansy did what she said.
February 14 — Day 365
Soft lips trailed across the skin of her back and she shivered even as she smiled. Turning over on the bed, she found herself face-to-face with a beaming Ginny. Since she moved in just after Christmas, it had become her favorite part of each day.
“Good morning.”
Ginny leaned forward for a soft kiss. “Coffee and French toast is ready.”
She groaned and stretched. “This is special.”
“We’re celebrating.”
“One year?”
“That, and this.” Ginny pressed her lips to Pansy’s hand.
For the first time, she realized something felt different. Squinting, she held up her left hand and saw a giant diamond ring on her fourth finger. “What the hell is this?”
“Your engagement ring,” she said. “You can get me mine whenever you’re ready.”
“Since when are we engaged?!” she demanded.
“Oh, just after midnight.”
It was far too early for this. “You didn’t think to ask first?”
“Well, you said we needed to date for at least a year before you’d consider getting engaged, and you also told me I wasn’t allowed to propose on Valentine’s Day,” she said. “So this is us getting engaged without me proposing.”
She gaped at her. “You can’t just decide that we’re engaged.”
“I mean, I decided that we were going to be friends and look at how that worked out.”
Fed up, she flipped Ginny onto her back. “We are not friends.”
She beamed up at her. “Nope, we’re fiancées.”
Warm cinnamon brown eyes stared up at her. Ginny had such a bright, excited, hopeful expression on her face Pansy knew the battle was already lost.
It usually was with her.
“You are going to beg,” she said.
Her grace grew somehow happier than before. “Should I get the strawberries and whipped cream?”
“You are very lucky I love you.”
Ginny wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled her close. “I am,” she said right before she pressed her lips against hers.