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It's Not Just Sex	By : Daye Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Pansy Views: 52112 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Beta-read by the superb Salon Kitty

Chapter Nine: He Who Dares...

Harry tossed and turned in his bed. His brain was aflame with vivid images; memories that were simultaneously his and entirely foreign to him. He recognised his surroundings, even though instead of the snow that had covered the village a mere hour ago there were now pumpkins and fake skeletons and all kinds of supposedly scary Halloween decorations. The part of him that was still Harry knew what event he was about to witness, although he had no first hand memories of it. Still the fear that welled up in him was quickly overrun as the thoughts and emotions that the Dark Lord had felt at their first encounter wreathed his brain and started to stain his perceptions. As he walked through Godric’s Hollow, Harry waved aside a small child that was staring at him and stalked up to the door of his parent’s house. He could see his parents inside playing with him. He pondered them for a moment. Then with a casual blast of magic, he burst through the threshold. He could feel the Fideluis Charm collapsing, the fabric of the spell was shredded into scattered threads of magic as he entered the protected home. He slew his father first, as the fool bounded towards him, wand-less. His mother pleaded with him, asking him to spare him. She would not stop shielding him, so he killed her. He looked down at himself; he who would be the ruin of him.

Then he killed himself.

It was pain beyond pain. White-hot knives jammed into every joint, shearing off each body part from the whole. The pain invaded his flesh, singling out each cell with such exacting ferocity that his physical mass was reduced to nothing more than dust particles floating through air. He was dead, less than the meanest ghost. He could feel himself drifting away into darkness. His thoughts scattered, and were mixed with another person’s. Sounds drifted across his consciousness; voices, snatches of a conversation from another place and time. A man and woman arguing. It seemed both wrong and right to the other person. His companions always argued. Got to get to... echoed the male voice from far away. ...just leave him! The woman’s response was shrill and grating. It chilled him to his non-existent bones, like a cold wind was washing over his spirit, spreading him out into nothingness...

Abruptly, Harry’s consciousness slammed back into his body. Normal sensation and body control returned to him along with a considerable, though hardly unfamiliar, amount of pain. A cry might have escaped his lips had they not been dry and cracked. A hoarse gargle emanated from his parched throat as he pushed himself up onto his elbows and surveyed the area. The motion sent fresh ripples of agony out from the centre of his chest. Looking down, he saw a red circular patch of damaged flesh between his nipples, where the locket would have rested. He tried to get up but his limbs balked at the effort, instead he simply flopped off the bed, his flesh peeling slowly away from sweat sodden sheets with only gravity to propel him and crashed down on the cloth floor. He wheezed through his parched throat and to his disgust noted that although his mouth was stone dry his flesh was slick and clammy with sweat.

Groaning, he pulled himself laboriously to his feet by a handhold on a nearby armchair and surveyed the room. Its contents were scattered and disorderly, as if they had been rummaged through in a great hurry. It was cold and getting colder, a rough breeze swept through the room. Harry glanced up and found the source. The cloth door of the tent gaped wide open, letting in the winter air.

He had finally done it, he thought. He had finally driven them off with his ineptitude and failure and after that last fiasco, could he really blame them? A small logical part of him remembered that it had been what he’d wanted. Back in Hogwarts, he had insisted it was something he had to do alone, that they should not come, that they should not be endangered by his mission. Now that reality was here and it hurt like hell.

Soundlessly he slumped back down on the bed, ignoring the feel of the damp cloth and the stiff frosty breeze from the still open door. It didn’t really matter.

He was alone.

~0~

It was unlike any other Apparition Pansy had been party to; instead of the standard crushing blackness, the brilliant light from Ron’s Deluminator had enveloped her, stretching from the finger tips she’d managed to lay on him before he disappeared. The effect rather reminded her of a Portkey as even the tiniest touch she had on Ron had dragged her on behind him.

After a split second of brightest light, reality returned. Pansy, already overextended trying to grab Ron, lost her balance as her feet slipped on the frozen ground and she fell awkwardly, crashing straight into Ron. He staggered away from her as she hit the ground. They glared at each other. The force of Pansy’s gaze more than made up for her ungainly seated posture.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Ron growled down at her.

Pansy scrambled back to her feet, colour rushing to her face.

“I told you!” Pansy snapped back, “We can’t just leave Harry all alone like that.”

“I didn’t ask you to come along,” Ron said, advancing slightly on Pansy, “I don’t expect you to care what happens to Hermione.”

“Oh right, I was just going to let you run off by yourself and get yourself killed,” Pansy was undeterred by the Weasley’s looming bulk, “I mean; that’d be a fun conversation with Harry when he woke up. Hey honey, glad you’re awake. ‘Where’s Ron?’ oh well, I don’t know, he just ran off on his own to find Hermione.”

Ron didn’t bother to answer. Instead he turned away, and started looking around their new surroundings, which despite looking to Pansy just like any other random scrap of forest, was also hauntingly familiar. Light flooded through the canopy just ahead of them and Pansy could see that they had apparated just on the edge of wood. Ron was heading towards the light, completely ignoring her.

“Where are we any way?” She asked as she traipsed after him

“Where Hermione is,” Ron said, with complete confidence.

“Well, yes, I got that,” Pansy said, “Anything more specific... oh.”

Her voice trailed off as they left the forest and were presented with a sweeping vista of the valley below. In the centre of the valley sprawled a large house, elegant gardens lying around it. The area was cordoned off by imposingly tall dark hedges, while at the end of the sweeping drive a pair of black iron gates stood, barring entrance to all.

“Oh?” Ron asked, shooting an impatient gaze over one shoulder.

“Ron,” Pansy said shakily, “Ron, you can’t just go down there and get Hermione. You can’t”

“Just watch me,” Ron growled.

“Ron, please, you don’t understand,” Pansy pleaded, “Ron, that’s Malfoy Manor.”

His response was not quite what Pansy had expected.

“Good.” His stride lengthened as he started downhill.

“What do you mean good?” Pansy said, “Not only are half the Death Eaters in the country down there. That is a Pure Blood Mansion, a proper one. Do you know the kind of wards a house like that builds up over the generations? If you step onto that property without an invite, well... At best you’ll set off a dozen alarming charms, at worst; you’re fried on the spot.”

Ron’s stride didn’t slow. Pansy slipped her wand out of her pocket.

“I’m warning you, Ron,” she growled, swinging her wand to bear, “I’m not letting you go kill yourself, so stop moving and let’s go back to Harry to come up with an actual plan.”

~O~

It was the crunch of snow being broken under foot that alerted Harry to the fact he had guests. The knowledge failed to move him; either emotionally or a single inch from where he sat in an armchair next to the tent’s solitary entrance. His wand was lying on the table along with the glinting gold locket, but it was out of reach and he didn’t get up to fetch it. There was no point, the wand was scorched black all down the left side which was probably the result of spell damage from one of the curses Pansy and Ron had sent shooting everywhere when they had attempted to rescue him from Nagini.

“Harry?” said a hesitant voice from outside the tent.

Harry made no response. There was a long pause. Then very slowly a familiar figure eased her way through the door, wand first. The double take that Pansy did when she saw him in the armchair was quite amusing. Harry almost found the energy to chuckle.

“Yes,” he growled, “I’m still here. Where else would I go?”

Pansy face softened but she still held herself back from him.

“It’s good to see you awake again, Harry.” She said softly.

“Yes, I can tell how worried you were by the way you were all crowding me,” Harry said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Pansy twitched slightly as if suppressing a flinch.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” She said, “I didn’t want to leave you but it was either that or let Ron run off by himself and do something stupid to rescue Hermione.”

Confusion creased Harry’s features as this sudden change of topic.

“What? Rescue Hermione? How? ” He spluttered.

“Well when we before you back to the tent, we heard her, me and Ron, from the Deluminator, I mean, It talks you see,” Pansy nervously rambled through an explanation.

“You mean you know where she is?” Harry interrupted.

It was if something had ignited inside Harry, a small nova of hope blossomed in his chest, rushing out to fill his entire body with excitement and energy. After all these months of questions and doubt and aimless wanderings, here was something he could latch on to. It was a definite task; a simple goal to achieve and he had to do it was be himself. He would rescue Hermione.

He leapt to his feet in a single graceful bound.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He said, rushing for the exit and headed out to the brilliant winter sun or at least tried to. As he head through the door he stripped and stumbled over a figure lying there. Regaining his footing he glance down at the still figure and then back at Pansy, arching an eyebrow.

“Pansy?” He said incredulously, “Did you stun Ron?”

“I had to,” Pansy wailed, “He was about to try and take on everyone in Malfoy Manor?”

“Malfoy Manor?” Harry asked.

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Pansy said in a brittle voice, “When Ron used his Deluminator after we heard Hermione’s voice come out of it, this ball of light appeared from it, and he went into this light and I grabbed onto him and it teleported us to a hill overlooking the Malfoy’s and of course Ron decided that that meant she was in there.”

“Right,” said Harry, “Well wake him up and we’ll go break in then.”

“Hell’s Bells, Harry!” Pansy cursed, “Not you too. We can’t just break into the Manor. We need a plan.”

“We don’t have time for this Pansy,” Harry said, fidgeting restlessly as he tried to hold on to his new found energy and sense of purpose, “We can’t let them keep Hermione.”

“Calm down, Harry,” Pansy snapped, “I’ve already thought of a plan alright?”

“Great!” said Harry, happily but slowly felt the emotion drain from him as he saw the look on Pansy’s face, “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

~O~

The caterwauling of the Manor’s broken wards pounded on Draco Malfoy’s temples, as if his head had been trapped in a pair of cymbals. It was a half past three in the morning; he’d only barely got to sleep as it was. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to roll back under the covers and stick his head between his pillows until it all stopped, but for a sudden image that flashed into his brain--a pair of heavily lidded eyes, the curl of thin lips twisted in sadistic pleasure. His flesh crawled. He would have to answer the alarm’s call. He didn’t want to upset his aunt.

As Draco hurriedly dressed, he didn’t look in the mirror. He didn’t need to see in it to recognise how much he had changed in the last few years, his once fine pale skin gone sallow, the fineness of his features etched with lines and gaunt with stress. Time was of the essence, he had no moment to spare for self-loathing or reflecting on just how far he had fallen and how quickly he had done it.

Gripping his Hawthorn wand in a white-knuckled grip, Draco charged through the halls of his home. He met his father in the entrance hall, Lucius’ drawn face was a mirror of Draco’s own.

“Father,” Draco tried to keep his voice level and failed utterly, “What‘s going on?”

Lucius shot him a sharp look and Draco felt the usual lurch in his stomach as he realised he’d just lost yet more of his father’s regard.

“The wards have been breached by a magical discharge,” The elder Malfoy said in clipped tones, “we are under attack,”

They swept out onto the long drive of their home, the cold night air slapping Malfoy’s face. Out in front of them there were other figures moving, already halfway down the stretch of gravel to the black iron gates. Draco recognised their leader by her graceful movement, languid and confident like a big cat stalking its prey. Behind Bellatrix Lestrange was a loose arc of much less savoury people; the snatchers and hoodlums employed by The Dark Lord to scour the country for the Order and other undesirables. They were bullies and thugs of no breeding or refinement. Draco hated them.

They, of course, reached the gates before he did. Even has he and his father reached the gate, he heard the peal of his aunt’s familiar and mocking laughter.

Out of breath, he slid to a halt, a couple of paces behind his Aunt and, to his revulsion, between her and Fenrir Greyback. It was still a few days shy of full moon and yet the man walked as a wolf did; on all four limbs. His tongue lolled out of his lips as he panted white mist into the night air. Draco fixed his eyes on the intruder, grateful for the excuse not to look at bestial wizard.

The intruder stood at the very edge of the pool of light cast by the gate’s lanterns, just a single step back and the intruder would be completely lost to their vision. Draco strained his eyes and finally managed to pick out some details. She was a woman, quite tall and dressed in a well worn cloak over battered black jeans and a shapeless dark woolen jumper, black hair fell from her head past her shoulders only bound into the loosest of pony tails. The dark hair framed a sharp face with round steel-grey eyes. It was only when she spoke that Draco recognised the intruder as Pansy Parkinson.

“Now is this any way for a civilised pureblood family to greet their guests?” She said, in a tone just shy of sarcasm, “Time was when I received a much warmer welcome here.”

“You got a lot of guts coming here, wench,” growled Fenrir, “makes me wanna play with them,”

Instantly, there was a loud crack and howl of pain, Fenrir dropped from all fours to writhing prone in the dust.

“Now, now is that anyway to talk to a respected guest?” said Bella, still holding her smoking wand, “You must forgive Fenrir, dear, he gets angsty at this time of the month, now what was it you were wanting?”

Draco’s stomach soured, he felt sick. Bellatrix was using a tone of voice that sounded completely reasonable, calm, almost kind. Things were really about to go to pot. Such a voice was only used to conceal the bubbling madness within before an almighty eruption. There was no telling what she might do.

“Why do you think?” Pansy said calmly, “What does everyone want? I want to join up. I want to be on the real winning team again."

“And what makes you think,” Bella said, a touch of brittleness in her voice, “we’re going to take a cheap harlot into our midst? The chosen one’s own whore?”

An odd expression flickered across Pansy’s face for the briefest of seconds, Draco didn’t think anyone but him would know her well enough to spot it, then she grinned evilly and stepped aside. Behind her two figures were suddenly revealed, curled supine on the ground, clearly unconscious. From one head, shaggy red hair spilled across the ground like flames, on the other was hair the colour of darkest night that was plastered over a scar of perhaps the most famous shape imaginable.

“Because I brought you presents.” Pansy said, triumphantly.

~ - ~

I know, I know: All plot and no smut makes Daye a dull boy... There will be more sex next chapter, though not between the main pairing. As ever reviews are encouraged. In case anyone was wondering the title of this chapter is an allusion to the SAS motto; "Who Dares, Wins"

Next: In The Belly Of The Beast
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It's Not Just Sex