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The younger aurors, their uniform robes still smart and starched, surrounded their arrestee, busily checking their Incarcerous charms and making certain the villain was ready for transport to the cells under the Ministry to await trial before the Wizengamot. Off to the side, two senior aurors stood, their robes disheveled and their faces weary.

"Cor, that was a rough one," said Ron Weasley, holstering his wand and making an attempt at straightening his robes.

"It was," Harry Potter agreed. He reckoned he hadn't had to duel like that in a while, and hadn't even been certain that he could have handled it if Ron had not been partnered with him. He glanced over at the junior aurors. They'd levitated the man he'd so recently battled, and were preparing the portkey. They were so young, so eager. Harry still loved his job, knew how important the work he did was, but he was eager only for a cold pint and a warm bath. "Want to go grab a drink before shoving off?"

Ron pulled a regretful face, shaking his head. "Can't. It's Hugo's birthday tomorrow, and Hermione's making a special dinner tonight, since the big do is over at Mum and Dad's tomorrow."

The Weasleys were making a big fuss over Hugo's birthday this year, since it was his eleventh. Last one at home, old enough to go to Hogwarts the following year. Harry knew it was a big deal, since he'd been through it with James and Al. Lily still had a year to go.

"I know. I'll be there." He paused. "Ginny's bringing Lily."

Ron nodded. "Sorry, mate. Merlin knows I could use a pint. But the wife and kid await."

Harry nodded as well. "See you tomorrow, then."

He watched Ron disapparate, trying not to feel envious. After Ron popped out of corporeality, Harry cast a look down the street. They were near Muggle London -- their culprit had been hiding nasty curses in Muggle spaces -- and the evening was clear and temperate. Harry decided he was in a mood to walk, and after seeing the junior aurors portkey their arrestee to the Ministry, he turned heel and headed back down the street.

He stopped at the first pub he saw.

It was an older storefront, a bit shabby, with a wooden sign outside declaring it the Sinking Ship. It was nowhere near the water. It appealed to Harry immediately. He pushed in without hesitation, and took a seat at the bar.

The place was fairly bustling. It was a Friday evening, and Harry supposed a lot of blue collar Muggles had similar ideas to his, grabbing a pint before heading home. The woman behind the bar had her back turned to him, fixing cocktails for a server waiting impatiently by the well. Harry didn't mind waiting; he was in no hurry. He watched the bartender, her nimble hands pulling bottles and pouring alcohol and mixers with admirable precision. There was something oddly familiar about the way she worked, though Harry couldn't figure why. He'd never been in the place before.

Finally she turned toward him, starting to speak before she turned fully. "Can I get you some-" She stopped abruptly, but recovered quickly, barely missing a beat. "-thing to drink?"

Harry stared at her. He couldn't help it. It was a face he'd not seen in person since his school days, but it was an unforgettable one. Sharp chin. Brows that were dark slashes over dark eyes. And a distinctive, ski-slope nose.

"Potter," she said, almost a bark. "I'm busy here. What'll you have to drink?"

"Um. Ah. A pint of Young's Special. Please."

Harry couldn't quite believe that Pansy Parkinson was working behind a bar. A bar in Muggle London. A bar from behind which she'd demanded his drink order like it wasn't totally shocking to see her there, and like she'd not been surprised at all to see him sitting across from her. Pansy poured the ale and slid it across to him, staring at him defiantly, as if daring him to ask the question that was hanging between them.

Well, Harry had been a Gryffindor, after all. So he asked. "What on earth are you doing here, Parkinson?"

The corner of Pansy's mouth lifted in a smirk. "Tending bar. Obviously. I thought you were supposed to be some sort of terrific investigator, Potter." She shook her head as if disappointed by his thickness. "What are you doing here?"

"Made an arrest just down the street," he said coolly, though the start of the snarky banter had perked him up in way he hadn't been in quite some time. "Fancied a pint. This place was closest."

Pansy snorted. "As if you couldn't just apparate to the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry lifted his eyebrows, looking at the Muggles seated on either side of him. Pansy rolled her eyes. It was too loud in the pub for either of the men to pick up on the strange lingo.

"I also fancied a walk. It's a nice night." Harry took a sip of his ale.

Pansy smirked again. "More like you weren't eager to go home to an empty house."

Harry fought a sigh. News of his and Ginny's divorce had made the wizarding papers, and it seemed even a witch hiding out in Muggle London was up to date on his marital status. He was tired of the usual talking points -- It's fine. We still get along great, actually. I'm good with it. I've still got the kids part of the summer and every other holiday. We're still one big, happy, Weasley family. Instead, he shrugged.

"It's not empty. I've got a cat."

Pansy laughed, and to Harry's surprise it wasn't a cruel laugh. It was a genuine, tinkling laugh, followed by a genuine smile. "Alright, Potter. Alright."

She filled another pint, setting it before him. Harry started to protest that he hadn't ordered another, but Pansy cut him off. "On the house," she said, and Harry snapped his mouth shut.

The bell above the door clanged, and another group of thirsty Muggles piled into the pub. Pansy lifted her shoulder, tipped her head towards Harry, and then hurried off to see to them. Harry drained his pint, and the second one, and ducked out before Pansy could get back to him.

The next evening, Harry found himself standing on the sidewalk in front of the Sinking Ship again. He'd spent the better part of the day at the Burrow for Hugo's birthday celebration, and he was exhausted. It had been a good time, of course, and he'd been delighted to give Lily and Hugo and the various young Weasleys piggy-back rides and to chase them about on their training brooms in the Burrows' yard, and he'd loved catching up with Hermione and hearing about how her updated version of Hogwarts, A History was coming along. He'd even chatted a bit with his ex-wife, now Ginny Weasley-Corner, because they were amicable. Her husband, Michael, was a nice bloke. Sure, it grated on Harry a bit when Michael and Lily had winked at each other over some inside joke, but he'd managed to keep an amiable grin on his face throughout the festivities. That was life being divorced but still a member of the family. He was mature. He was relaxed. But he was also exhausted, and for some reason when he'd left the party, after hugging and kissing everyone good-bye, this was where he'd wanted to be.

The pub was less busy this evening. It was truly a working man's bar, Harry supposed. Parkinson was at her post behind the bar, however, and Harry took a seat on one of the well-worn stools.

"Couldn't stay away?" Pansy said by way of greeting, setting aside the mug she'd been drying as she approached.

Harry took a moment to appreciate her as she walked over. He'd been too shocked at recognizing her the night before to take in much of her appearance. At 38, Pansy looked perhaps a decade younger - witches aged remarkably well. Her dark hair was longer than it had been in school, brushing her shoulders. Her figure was still fit and trim, and she was a short woman, maybe five feet, maybe an inch or so more. Harry couldn't see her shoes to see if they gave her a boost. In school he'd found her hideous, but perhaps that had been because she was always giving him (or Ron, or Hermione, or Ginny, or Neville…) a hard time. Now he found her sort of striking. He tried to remind himself that she'd attempted to sacrifice him to Voldemort, but the truth was that he'd always understood why she'd done it, even if he'd found it really, really annoying at the time.

He ordered his ale, and took a grateful sip. Only then did he look up and address Pansy. "It's been a long day, and a Muggle bar tended by a witch is definitely intriguing."

Pansy's mouth curved into an enigmatic smile. "Enjoy your pint, Potter."

She sauntered away to the other end of the bar.

Harry couldn't help but grin. She wasn't going to explain herself easily. That was alright. He enjoyed a mystery, especially one that didn't involve bloodshed or dark curses.

A pint at the Sinking Ship after work grew into something of a habit for Harry. He didn't invite Ron to join him -- not with any malice, just that Ron usually wanted to push off to Hermione and Hugo. And, if Harry admitted it to himself, the mystery of Pansy Parkinson and the Sinking Ship was one he wanted to keep for himself for a while. Having another wizard there would shift the dynamic, and Harry didn't want that. Not yet.

Every evening Pansy would greet him, and pour his pint of Young's Special, and when he tried to engage her, she'd smirk, tell him to enjoy his drink, and walk away. She didn't answer questions; she didn't give Harry a chance to ask. Harry was nothing if not a crackerjack auror, however, and he was content to observe while he savored his ale.

Pansy seemed genuinely happy and at home in the Muggle pub. It was the last thing Harry would have expected from a pureblood witch who prided herself on being a descendent of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, one who had been the most Slytherin of Slytherins when they'd been at school. He remembered the snooty, sly, and often downright cutting girl she'd been, and that girl was still there, but she'd matured into a woman who was comfortable bantering with the Muggle regulars that frequented the pub, and who was strong enough not to take any guff from someone who'd had a pint too many. Pansy moved behind the bar with practiced ease, rarely even looking down to see what bottle she'd reached for or what tap she pulling on. Harry didn't get the sense that she was discontented or settling. On the contrary, his former antagonist seemed vibrant and alive while she worked. Her customers seemed to enjoy trading barbs with her, and Pansy wore a genuine smile that Harry didn't think he'd ever seen when they were teenagers.

His conclusion: Pansy Parkinson was here because it made her happy. The only questions Harry had remaining were the why and how of it. But finding those answers meant he'd have to get her to talk to him.

Harry got his opportunity on a slow Wednesday night. The only other bar patrons were a man and woman who seemed heavily invested in each other, and not in talking to the bartender. Pansy had busied herself polishing glasses, but was hard pressed to ignore Harry when he called down to her.

"Oi, Parkinson!"

"What to you want, Potter?" Pansy set down the glass she was polishing, and settled the hand holding her rag against her hip.

"I'm bored," Harry said, flashing a congenial grin at her.

"And that's my problem because…" Pansy's voice trailed off into a question, but she did walk closer, leaning against the back counter of the bar across from where Harry sat.

"Because it's a slow night and I reckon you're bored, too."

Pansy's eyebrow rose. "Do you propose something to change that?"

Harry's grin widened. "Play a game of trading questions with me. If you refuse to answer a question, you have to do a shot." Seeing Pansy's skeptical expression, Harry hastened to add, "I'll pay for any shots consumed."

Pansy glanced down the bar. The couple had finished their drinks and, faces flushed, were pulling on their coats. Someone was getting lucky tonight, Harry thought. When Pansy looked back at him, he waggled his eyebrows, challenging her to find another reason to say no.

Pansy sighed. "Fine. But I'm not taking it easy on you."

"I'd be disappointed if you did." Harry settled comfortably into his barstool, his eyes focused on Pansy. "You can go first."

"Oh, really?" Pansy laughed. "How generous. Doesn't give me much time to think, though." She paused for a moment. "What's your cat's name?"

"My cat?" Harry narrowed his eyes skeptically. This was a featherweight question, and Harry suspected she was starting soft so she could hit him with a hard one later. It was a technique he used all the time.

"Yes, your cat. You mentioned the first time you came in that you had a cat. Are you really going to do a shot already over your cat's name?" Pansy boosted herself up, so she was sitting on the back counter. The bar was dark, and there was the bartop plus a couple of feet of empty space between them, but Harry could see the challenge written on Pansy's face.

"He's called Archie. Well, Archibald, really. Lily heard the name on one of those corny soaps her gran is always listening to on the Wireless, and nothing else would do. He's actually Lily's cat, but she reckoned I needed company, so he stays with me. I don't mind him. He's a pleasant house-mate, so long as I keep him in kibble and catnip."

Harry actually loved the rascal. He was big and orange, the offspring of Crookshanks and a neighboring female. Archie was a bit more handsome than his sire, and also a sight less clever. But he curled up with Harry on the sofa when Harry watched telly or read a book, and he reminded Harry of his headstrong daughter.

"Golly, Potter. All I asked was his name." Pansy smirked. While Harry'd been talking, she'd opened a bottle of cider for herself, and she took a pull. "Go on, then, Auror Potter. Hit me with a probing question."

Harry rolled his eyes, but decided to skip the softballs and go right to what he wanted to know. "How did you end up working here?"

Pansy cast a sidelong glance at the shot glasses to her left, then to a bottle of cinnamon whisky, but she squared her shoulder and looked Harry in the eye.

"It's like this, you see: no one would have me after the war. Not to wife, not to work. Not in the wizarding world, anyway. I was a Slytherin, I was a pureblood, I tried to give the Chosen One to the Dark Lord. I was seen as untrustworthy, and suspected of being a baby Death Eater. And my family's got lots of money, so no one felt bad turning me down for a position. Which was fine, I suppose, except it was so dreadfully boring."

She shifted on the bar. She wasn't looking at Harry now, not really. She was gazing past him. "One day, thirteen or so years ago, I wandered into Muggle London on a whim. I wanted to see what the bloody fuss was all about. I wandered past this place, and it had a help wanted sign hanging in the window. I came inside and asked for the manager. He'd never heard of me, and he hired me on the spot. I've been here since."

Pansy stopped talking, and her eyes once again focused on Harry's with laser precision. He suspected her next question would not be about his cat.

He was correct in his suspicions. "Why did you and Weasley split? Perfect couple, so shocking. Even here I couldn't avoid the gossip. I had owls flying in and had to shoo them back to the office before the customers started asking questions."

Harry was silent for a while. Pansy picked up a shot glass and began turning it about in her hands. Finally, Harry said, "I couldn't tell you."

"Oh, that's a shot, Potter!" Pansy hopped down from her perch, banging the shot glass down in front of him.

Harry flapped a hand at the small glass. "No, no. I'm answering. It's just that there wasn't any one specific reason." Harry thought back over the course of his marriage, They'd married when he was twenty-three, and Ginny twenty-two. James had come along two years later. And then the breakneck rollercoaster of marriage and family had taken on a life of its own. "It was like that Chinese torture, the Death By A Thousand Cuts. A missed family dinner here. A poorly taken remark there. A disagreement over the children here. A disappointing birthday there. That's how my marriage died. One day, we realized we weren't really happy with each other any longer. So we called it, before we hated each other and while we could still be a family. Even if it's a bit broken."

Pansy stared at him, not saying anything. Harry rankled. "Sorry if it's not salacious enough for you." He pointed in front of him. "Reckon I might take that shot anyway."

"I'll join you," Pansy said, her voice surprisingly gentle. She took another shot glass from the stack, and filled both of them with the cinnamon whisky.

Pansy took her shot expertly -- not that Harry expected anything less -- and Harry followed suit. The spiced alcohol hit his belly, warming it instantly.

"It's your turn," Pansy reminded him. She leaned back against the counter again and folded her arms across her chest, appearing to brace herself for whatever question Harry might pose after the whammy she'd hit him with.

Harry thought for a minute, trailing his finger around the rim of his pint glass. The warmth in his stomach was making him feel mellow.

"Do you ever leave this place?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Do you?" Pansy riposted smartly, eliciting a chuckle from Harry.

"I'm serious," Harry said, shaking his head. "You're here every night that I come in."

"I live here."

Harry's chuckle became a full-out gale of laughter. "You like tending bar that much, eh?"

"I do," Pansy said, glaring at him. Harry laughed even harder, and she swatted his arm with her dish towel -- to no effect. "But I also own the place. That's why I'm here all the time. And I have a flat upstairs. Where I live."

Harry got ahold of himself. "Do you really?"

"Yes!" Pansy shook her head. "I told you I've been working here for thirteen years. When the fellow who hired me decided it was time to retire, he sold me the place." She stretched her arms out, her hands almost caressing the battered wood of the bar top. Her voice softened. "This is mine."

"Do you ever take a day off?" The words tumbled from Harry's mouth before he could think about why he was asking.

"Potter, that is at least three questions in a row. You're not following the rules," Pansy said, but her mouth curved into a smile.

"Fine," Harry said, and quaffed what remained of his pint. "Ask me something, then."

Pansy drew herself up straight. "If I took this Saturday off, would you like to spend it with me?"

Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this, and yet he wasn't appalled by the notion. He was actually having a rather nice time trading questions with Pansy. But…

"I can't." Harry almost winced at how quickly Pansy's face shuttered. She picked her towel up again and snatched up the two shot glasses with one hand, turning to wash them in the three compartment sink.

"Parkinson." Harry hated that there was two feet of bar between them. He couldn't reach out and turn her around. "I would like to spend Saturday with you. But it's my weekend with Lily."

Pansy stopped what she was doing, and looked over her shoulder at Harry. She appeared to be evaluating him. Harry felt oddly relieved when she nodded her head, seemingly accepting what he'd said as the truth.

When Pansy came around to wipe down the tall tables that filled the remainder of the pub, she unwittingly put herself in Harry's reach. Not sure if it was the alcohol making him brave, or his Gryffindor impulsiveness rearing its head, when Pansy passed by Harry, he caught her by the waist, and pulled her close.

"Potter, what are you-"

Harry fit his mouth to Pansy's, silencing her. She was stiff against him for a minute, then he felt her relax. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. She settled into his embrace, rising onto her toes to reach up and cup his neck in her hand. Harry slid off the barstool, reducing the difference in height some. Pansy pressed closer and nipped at Harry's lower lip.

"And here I thought you'd rather be caught dead than snog a Slytherin," Pansy murmured. Her hand trailed down from Harry's neck and rested against his hip.

"I don't mind Slytherins." Harry grinned. "One of my sons is a Slytherin." He paused, realizing how that sounded. "Not that I snog him, but-"

"Merlin, Potter. Please shut up."

Harry nodded, and found her mouth once more.

"Dad! Oh, my goodness, Daddy, look!"

Harry glanced up at the sound of his daughter's excited voice. He'd taken her to the holiday village that had been set up in Hogsmeade, and winter wonder had overtaken Lily's usual I'm almost eleven, I'm practically grown attitude. Now she was calling his attention to a giant sleigh that was soaring through the sky, a jolly figure with a white beard at the helm, and eight reindeer out front. The sleigh moved through the sky gracefully, dipping and turning and occasionally looping.

"I know it's just Uncle Charlie in a costume, but it's still amazing!" There was a wistful note underlying Lily's excitement. Ten was a tough age, Harry reckoned. Old enough to know the truth behind Father Christmas, young enough to wish she still believed.

"It's brilliant," Harry agreed.

"Can I go say hi?" Lily asked, not taking her eyes off the sleigh as it came to a graceful landing.

"Of course," Harry said. "Just don't give the secret away for the little ones."

"Dad! I would never!"

Harry watched as Lily ran off, her dark red hair under a bright white cap making her easy to spot in the crowd. Molly and Arthur had told Harry that his daughter was very much like her namesake, and Harry didn't doubt it. His girl was fearless. Al had surprised them all with his Sorting, but Harry had no doubts that Lily was another Gryffindor in the making.

As he headed toward the sleigh at a more leisurely pace than his daughter, Harry allowed his mind to wander. He had been having a hard time keeping his mind off Pansy, though he hadn't been back to the Sinking Ship since that Wednesday evening. They'd done no more than kiss, though there was a part of Harry that had wanted to haul her up to that little apartment she'd mentioned, and do every wicked thing he could think of to her. But while he wasn't sure what this thing with Pansy was, he knew he wanted more than a one-off, and that he wanted to take it slow. So he'd very reluctantly said goodnight, and said he would see her after the weekend.

It was strange, how much he wanted her, and how he didn't even question it. Twenty or so years ago, the idea that he'd find Pansy Parkinson so desirable and that he'd even genuinely like her would have been mind-boggling. But it had happened so naturally and so easily that all Harry could think about was the way her mouth had felt under his, and the way her body had felt pressed so closely to him. He'd been distracted at work -- which was not great; crime ramped up during the holidays -- and Ron had noticed. Harry, not ready to share the secret of the Sinking Ship and its owner with his best mate, had said he was looking forward to the boys coming home for the holiday, which was true enough because he was, but not looking forward to the tension that brought since he and Ginny had split, which was also true. Ron hadn't pushed further, instead switching the annual topic of what he should get Hermione for Christmas. Harry, as he did every year, suggested a book, and Ron had begun his typical argument about how books weren't romantic. Harry's distraction had been forgotten, at least by Ron.

Harry caught up with Lily and her uncle. Charlie was unrecognizable, save his twinkling blue eyes. He dropped a wink at Harry while he ho-ho-hoed and handed out small gifts of sweets and bits of fluff out to the children. Lily held a box of glittery pastel sugar quills triumphantly into the air, and Harry gave her a high five.

"You'd better be planning on sharing," Harry said to her, wrapping an arm around his daughter's shoulders.

Lily giggled and handed him a sparkling lavender quill.

Harry had come to love the holiday season. Before he'd gone to Hogwarts, he'd dreaded it. Christmas had just meant Dudley wallowing in an orgy of gifts, counting them up and tantruming if he didn't best the previous year's total, and God forbid he didn't get what he wanted -- the walls would shake with his fury. Meanwhile, Harry might get some second-hand socks or a half-eaten box of chocolates. It wasn't all about the gifts, it was the lack of thought and care and the day being devoid of any sense of warmth and spirit. Once he'd met Ron and Hermione, however, that had changed. The holiday had become about showing love for one another, a celebration of friendship. After leaving school, and spending holidays with the Weasleys, it had become one of his favorite times of the year. He'd worried that his divorce would make Christmas awkward, especially after Ginny remarried, but he'd been welcomed at the Burrow just as he had always been. The Weasleys had taught him how to be part of a family, and Christmas was all wrapped up in that.

Harry and Lily walked along, nibbling on their quills. Soon Al and James would be home, and Harry would feel more complete. He loved his family, so much. He was content with his life. He just had to figure out where Pansy Parkinson fit into it.

"Potter, what are we doing?"

Harry, breathless, looked at Pansy. She was in his lap, her legs nestled on either side of his thighs, and he was hard as a rock.

"Snogging, I thought," he said, lowering his head, intending to fit his mouth to hers again.

Her hands on his chest stopped him.

"No, really," Pansy said. Her face was flushed and her mouth was swollen from his kisses, and all Harry wanted to do was snog her some more, but clearly she wanted to talk. "We're almost forty, and we're spending almost every evening making out like teenagers. So what are we doing?"

Harry sighed, and leaned back slightly, letting his hands rest on Pansy's arse. "Getting to know each other, I suppose. We do talk, as well, yeah?"

Pansy looked at him skeptically, but he'd spoken the truth. They did talk, when she wasn't busy with other customers, because obviously they couldn't start snogging until the pub was closed for the night. Things still hadn't gone further than kissing, though their sessions had gotten increasingly intense.

She snorted. "You're getting to know what my throat feels like with your tongue."

Harry gave her butt a squeeze. "And you seem to enjoy it."

Pansy pressed her lips into a line, but let out a breath and relaxed a little. "I do. Very much. Too much, maybe. But... " Harry hated but. Good things didn't usually come after but. "You're Harry-bloody-Potter. I'll wager you can't do anything casual. The papers won't let you. Everything is a big deal with you."

Harry closed his eyes. Pansy wasn't wrong. The Prophet picked up every little thing he did, and analyzed it to death. He'd contemplated leaving the country when he and Ginny had separated, because the reporting had been relentless. But he'd thought maybe he'd escaped that, here in Pansy's Muggle hideaway. Deep down he knew that he couldn't stay in their bubble forever. He also knew that maybe he didn't really want to.

He reached up, caressing Pansy's cheek, cupping the back of her neck and letting his thumb run along the sharp line of her jaw.

"Who said I wanted to be casual?"

Pansy stared at him for a long time, and Harry began to worry that she was going to hop up from his lap and tell him get the hell out of her flat. Instead, she leaned in, and kissed him like her life depended on it. Harry hugged her tightly, and returned the favor.

Harry found himself pulled to an abrupt stop. Pansy was holding his hand, and she'd planted her feet.

"I've changed my mind. I don't know what I was thinking. You made me stupid with your damned tongue and your hands and… I'm not doing this, sorry."

Pansy looked truly panicked, so Harry stuffed his amusement down,and turned toward her, taking her other hand so he held both between them.

"Pansy, we're practically at the front door. It's Christmas. They're lovely people. It will be fine."

Harry's attempt at reassurance was interrupted as the door to the Burrow swung wide open.

"OI! Potter! Get your sorry arse in here! Mum won't let anyone have any of the egg nog until everyone's here."

Harry turned to look at George Weasley, then turned apologetically back to Pansy. "We're coming, we're coming."

He heard a small whimper from Pansy, but she started moving again, her hand tightly clenching his.

Perhaps he had gone nutty, bringing Pansy Parkinson to the Weasley Family Christmas. When he'd asked what she was doing for the holiday, she'd said she would be spending the day curled up with a book in her flat. The mental picture that had given Harry had been so depressing that he insisted she come with him to the Burrow. He'd been fairly shocked when she'd agreed. He had not been shocked when her cold feet had set in. It was too late now, though. They were there, and Harry's best friends, children, ex-wife, his ex-wife's new husband, and his surrogate family were all inside waiting to meet the woman he'd asked to bring with him.

Harry and Pansy stepped inside, and were immediately enveloped in the warmth of the Weasley home. They were also met with stares and a hush that fell over the previously noisy room; Ron's mouth was quite literally hanging open. Pansy's grip on Harry's hand was becoming painful.

"Hi, everyone," Harry said. "This is Pansy."

The silence lasted another moment, then Lily -- oh, his precious Lily -- said, "Hi, Pansy!" before standing and coming over to hug Harry. "I like your boots."

Pansy looked down at her boots, which were black and calf high, with several buckles criss-crossing around them. Harry rather liked them, too. She looked up at Lily and smiled. "Thank you. You must be Lily. Your dad's told me a lot about you. I think Archibald is a fine name, by the way."

Lily grinned and poked Harry in his side. "See, I told you."

The interaction broke the tension, and the chatter resumed. Harry tugged Pansy through the crowded living room, finding a spot on a squashy sofa. Molly flittered over and handed them cups of hot drinks - apple cider for Harry, mulled wine for Pansy. The cups filled themselves as Molly passed them over, and she gave both Harry and Pansy a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek. Harry felt a fierce bolt of love for the older woman, and he squeezed her extra tight.

"Thank you," he said simply, letting go.

Molly patted Harry on the cheek. "Of course, dear. Of course."

The flurry of excitement that came as gifts were exchanged and trays of sweets and biscuits were passed around took care of any remaining tension. After James, Rose, and Louis ran outside to try their new brooms, and Al and Dominique became engrossed in a game of wizard's chess while their other cousins played gobstones, the adults drifted about the house, grouping for conversation and catching up, before dispersing and reforming with a new group in the next room. Everyone was as pleasant to Pansy as Harry had expected they would be, though he knew he, Ron, and Hermione were probably going to do some talking when it wasn't Christmas any longer and they were able to ask him What the hell, Harry? Ron kept mouthing it over people's heads, anyway. The advantage of being tall, Harry supposed. Harry ignored him.

Eventually, Harry and Pansy ended up in a cluster with Ginny and her husband, Michael. Pansy remained quiet while they nattered on about the kids -- James had made starting Chaser for Gryffindor, Al was getting top marks in potions, Lily had grown three inches since the summer -- and mutual friends -- Neville and Hannah were expecting again, Luna and Rolf were in South America looking for a yacumama, which they all agreed sounded terrifying -- and finally Ginny and Michael's holiday plans.

"It'll be so nice to get away somewhere warm!" Ginny said.

Michael nodded. "I've always wanted to visit the Caribbean. Thanks for taking the kids for the whole holiday, Harry."

"I don't mind it," Harry said. "They're growing up so fast I feel like I need to grab every moment with them."

Harry felt Pansy's hand on his upper arm, and glanced down at her.

"Can I speak to you privately?" she said quietly, though Harry did not miss the steel edge in her voice.

Harry was nonplussed. "We can try. It can be a bit of a trick in this house when it's full."

They ended up in Ron's old room, which had not changed any since his teen years. Pansy's eyes scanned the room, her mouth an 'o' of horror.

"This amount of orange is enough to give anyone a migraine. How on earth does anyone sleep in here?"

Harry chuckled. "Ron's a big Cannons fan. You get used to it."

A thump and rattle sounded overhead, and Pansy's head jerked upward.

"They've got a ghoul in the attic," Harry said helpfully.

"Lovely." Pansy gritted her teeth.

"Anyway," Harry said, sidling closer, his arms going around Pansy's waist. "You wanted a private moment?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I said I wanted to speak to you privately," Pansy retorted, but she made no move to disentangle herself.

Harry kissed her forehead. "What's up?"

"Harry," she said, "you're taking your children for the entire holiday? Does this mean I won't see you for over a week? Why wouldn't you mention this to me?"

"Oh." He looked down at her. She looked so serious, her mouth a straight line, her brown eyes wide. "I thought you might spend some time with all of us."

"You did?" Her voice was uncharacteristically uncertain.

"Yeah, I did." Harry smiled, then kissed the tip of her pert nose. "Lily already likes you, and Al and James want to get to know you. They said as much when I told them I was bringing someone today. They know I wouldn't do that unless I was serious."

"Serious…" Pansy looked at him a moment longer, then nodded her head as if coming to a decision. "Alright then."

And then they were kissing. It was wild and hungry, and Harry knew it meant something. His hands were tangled in her hair, and her hands were slipping under his jumper. The feel of her fingers on his bare skin drew a growl from him, and he whirled Pansy around, almost tossing her to Ron's bed. He climbed atop her, his mouth sliding along her neck. The sound she made when he did that made him instantly hard. She had to have noticed, pressed to her as he was. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the button and zip of his trouser, and he felt her hand wrap around him. It was quite possibly one of the best sensations he'd ever felt, and he swallowed a groan.

A gale of giggle went up outside of Ron's bedroom door, and Harry heard the gallumphing of children's feet on the stairs. It dragged him forcefully to his senses.

"Shit. I can't do this." He lifted his hips carefully away from Pansy's, stifling another groan as he slid from her grip. "I can't shag you for the first time in my in-laws' house, on my best mate's childhood bed, with my kids downstairs. Merlin knows, I really, really want to. But I can't do it."

He sat back, kneeling between Pansy's legs, and zipped his trousers back up. Pansy gave a little moan, her hands on her face, before also sitting up and trying to straighten her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said, combing her fingers through her hair and tucking it behind her ears. "You said 'serious' and I lost my head."

"It's absolutely fine. Better than." Harry, trying to breathe normally, leaned forward to give her a chaste buss on the lips. "We'll just have to pick it back up later."

He clambered off the bed and held his hand out to Pansy to help her to her feet.

'Later' ended up being much later. It was after one in the morning when they stumbled through the door of the house at Twelve Grimmauld Place, where Harry had taken up residence when he'd found himself single. They'd finally escaped from the Burrow after playing three rounds of Witch's Rummy (Pansy was a damned cardsharp), pleading exhaustion. Ginny and Michael had taken the children back home with them, planning to hand them over to Harry the next day -- which was now the present day -- in the afternoon before they left for their holiday. Harry had felt pretty confident bringing Pansy back to his house.

"Master, it's very late," Kreacher said reprovingly, materializing in front of them. The house elf was definitely on the elderly side, but always seemed to have enough energy to grump at Harry.

"'S'alright, Kreacher. We can see to ourselves," Harry told him.

Kreacher looked Harry and Pansy up and down. "If you says so," he said, his voice and expression dour, but he vanished with a pop all the same.

"You have a house elf?" Pansy asked. Her eyes were wide.

"He came with the house," Harry explained. "He's been free for at least twenty years, but he hasn't accepted that. He's a grouch, but he's mostly fine. He loves purebloods, so he'll probably adore you."

Pansy shook her head, and unwound her scarf from around her neck. "So are you going to show me around?"

Harry watched her as she unbuttoned her peacoat, and said frankly, "I'd rather show you straight to my room."

Evidently Pansy didn't find him too eager, because she stretched up to brush her lips over his, and murmured, "That suits me just fine."

Once they were in his bedroom, Harry returned her kiss with a much more substantial one. When Pansy fisted her hands in his flannel shirt and yanked him close, any exhaustion he might have been feeling fell away, replaced with bolts of lust that zinged through him from head to toe.

Their clothes came off in a frenzy -- Harry took almost no time to appreciate the outrageously tiny bits of black lace Pansy had been wearing under her stylish jumper and denim trousers -- and before Harry knew it, he was stark naked, iron-hard, and pressing Pansy back onto his bed. She made him feel like a randy teenager; luckily for Pansy, he had all the experience his thirty-eight years afforded him, otherwise he would have been done for already.

Harry paused in his ravenous kisses to admire the way her breasts filled his hands perfectly. He brushed his thumbs over their taut peaks, and bent his head to repeat the maneuver with his tongue. Pansy responded with soft moan and an arch in her back that made Harry feel absolutely wild. He slipped a hand between them to delve between her legs, to see if she wanted him as badly he wanted her. Finding her hot and slick, he groaned, half in pleasure, half in relief. He lifted his hips away, took his cock into his own hand, and guided himself into her.

Their love-making took a furious pace. Harry pistoned his hips forward frantically, and Pansy met him thrust for thrust. They had been building toward this for a long time, and it was all the more earth-shaking for the wait. Harry wanted to smack himself for waiting so long to know what it would be like to bury himself inside Pansy; he couldn't imagine going without her for very long ever again. As he drove into her, his hands and mouth touched her wherever they could reach. He wanted to know her completely.

He felt her nails rake down his back, and her thighs tightened around his hips. He kissed Pansy as she came, swallowing her cries of pleasure like a man who had been starved. Only when he felt that last small tremble of pleasure from her did he allow himself to go over the edge, too, spilling inside her with her name on his lips.

Harry found her mouth again, kissing her until he was too tired to do anything more than fall to her side bonelessly. He pulled her close against him, his lips pressing small kisses against the nape of her neck until sleep carried him off.

Later, he became aware of small movements, Pansy sliding away from under his arm. He reached out, catching her hand. "Don't. Stay."

And she did, hesitating only a bare moment, before snuggling back against him, her head pillowed in the crook of his arm.

"Mmmphmm," Harry murmured, too tired to talk, but completely content.

"It's not for you," Pansy whispered, ever the snark. "I still haven't met Archie."

"Five… four… three… two… ONE! Happy New Year!"

Harry's children yelled this out at the top of their lungs, clinking together their glasses of sparkling cider as firecrackers went off in the distance. Harry grinned over their heads at Pansy, raising his own glass of champagne to her. Al glanced up at him, catching the exchange.

"It's alright, Dad," Harry's middle child said, his voice conspiratorially low. "It's midnight. Go on and kiss her. I know you want to."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, his voice equally low. "You think so?"

"Know so." At twelve, Al sure didn't miss much. Harry didn't think he'd been half so observant at that age; he'd probably have been murdered by a basilisk if not for Hermione.

"Yeah, you're right," Harry admitted.

He winked at Al, then looked back at James and Lily, oblivious to the conversation and delighted by the fireworks lighting up the night sky, and strode over to Pansy. He pulled Pansy into his arms, planting a firm kiss on her mouth. The new year seemed bright with possibilities.