Sooner or Later by Erica

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, Pansy and everything contained herein, except the plot.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pansy/Boy!Blaise
Summary: Four years after 7th year Pansy's not as free-spirited anymore. She was broken before, but now she's not mendable. But only he can fix her, for she was once and still is his first and only, as he for her.

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In the last year at Hogwarts, she had lost her hidden innocence to him. Something everyone else had assumed she had lost long ago. She had known everything about it, but it was him who gave her the privilege of knowing what everything in the books really meant. There was a secret feeling between them, and she would deny that she were in love. But unfortunately he had fallen into the web of rumors and thought she had already been ravished of her innocence. She tried to hide her importance, but he took it as an offense, and for months, he wouldn't look at her, and he would ignore her whenever in the same room.

At the same time, a life started growing inside of her. Tiny and unnoticeable at first, but then as weeks turned into months, she had found the reason behind the sudden change. And she kept it hidden, away from him and only told her best companion with whom she trusted with her life. He was always been there to break her fall.

Many robes, and excuses later, they left Hogwarts forever as students, and became adults into the real Wizardry world. She, of course, didn't leave her blonde companion, and after he took over his family name, and the Dark Lord's fall, she thought everything would be at peace and she would be able to nourish her life in a calm and peaceful atmosphere.

And this is how she lived for four years, with a piece of him under her wing, and the happiness of two lives surrounding her. Forever grateful she was, but never a day passed that she did not think about him. She knew he had cared, but they were both hard, and they both distanced themselves. She was too broken, and he had given up trying to fix her, if he had ever tried.

She had a forever sad look in her eyes. The two around her never failed to recall the dark permanent gaze that held in her once bright green eyes. She would blame it on stress, and they would nod and pretend they agreed with her, but they knew. They knew that she would never be happy again, or even try to be interested again.

She had lost herself, but she often reminded herself that there was never an identity to lose. She satisfied herself with this, and after so many times lying to herself, she finally accepted it and took it as the truth.

He, on the other hand, was the other part of a sad story, a shattered ending, an incomplete tale. Abusive fathers always expected more, and more, and he would be there to fill in the gratification. So he married a blonde bimbo of which he hated with a passion, but after sickness had struck her, she had passed away four months after their so called "fairy-tale wedding." Later, he was told she had been carrying an STD, from before the marriage.

Luckily, he had put her off whenever she wanted to make love. Making up excuses of being too tired, or not in the mood. He always pondered about her, about his once delicate, fiery goddess. She of whom he had denied being perfect, but the truth was she was everything one could ask for. And she never believed it, she never took it importantly. She belittled herself when not facing the crowd.

Then one night, she cracked.

Then one night, he snapped.

She wrote a letter to where she hoped was his current residence. She wanted to write everything about everyone and about every feeling. But instead, she wrote only about the other part of him. Two simple sentences followed by her name.

He was on the edge, he was ready to take the plunge into suicide. Who would miss him? Certainly not her. No way in hell it would be her. She was gone, he had lost her. He had pushed her away, cause her to hurt. No angel deserved that, and it was something he couldn't live with. And as if hope had finally found him, the letter came. Short and brief, but enough to make him curious, to make him stop.

So here he was, gazing at her from across the park. He noticed the permanent sad look in her expression. Something that had been etched into her after years of longing sadness and silence. It struck his heart, made him cringe, that maybe it was him that had caused this once flaming fire to burn out.

And then here he was. A complete replica of himself, almost astonishing to see. The eyes, the hair, skin tone, and even the way he walked. But he had the graze of his mother, the curiosity, and from what he had just seen ... the love of his mother. He almost envied him. He had her so close, but did he really appreciate it? He had to learn to finally swallow his cowardly ways and move forward.

"...Pa -- Pansy?" he felt like his voice for mere seconds, before clearing his throat and looked at the ground with hands shoved into his pockets.

He had come. She'd thought he'd be too busy mourning the loss of his wife. She had seen her in the Daily Prophet once. Beautiful, so beautiful. She would never live up to that, never. Not even in her dreams. She finally looked up, welcoming the shine of his face as the sun's rays bounced of his pale cheek. How much she just wanted to...

"Yes," she said quietly with the voice that was rarely used now, replaced by gestures. What happened to the loudmouthed freespirit of 17?

"Is ... Is this him?" he felt himself saying, his eyes resting on the small boy that sat next to his mother looking up at him with curious large eyes.

"This is Tedros," she spoke softly, ripping her gaze from him and over to small child, "Tedros ... Tedros, this is your father," her voice almost broke then and there, but she took a long breath to regain strength, "This is your father, Blaise," she ended her introduction to the small child, who instantly plastered a huge grin on his expression.

"Have you come back? Are you going to stay? Where did you go? Why weren't you here when mommy cried? Where were you when I called? Can I call you daddy? Can you show me how to ride a tri -- bicycle? Are you going to live with us?" Tedros went on, curious and frantic, his hands ringing around each other nervously.

Pansy on the other hand, almost choked on her words as she went on and on. She couldn't stop him, she wouldn't stop him. She wanted him to keep ask him. She wanted Blaise to feel at least a bit of guilt before he ripped himself away from them once more, and possibly this time forever.

"I -- Sorry, Harry and Draco thought him to speak his mind. That curiosity was -- well a good thing," she explained, placing her hands on her lap, "I guess, well," she paused looking at him, his expression coming from Tedros to her, "Why did you name him Tedros?" Blaise questioned, arching a brow.

How dare he? He didn't have the right to even ask that. The nerve, it just made her twitch in the inside, made her want to tackle him and make him feel vulnerable to the world, helpless like she had for many years.

"Means gift of God," she said quickly, taking Tedros' arm, "C'mon honey, Draco asked us to be back by dinner," she said abruptly before glancing at Blaise, "I suppose you have to get back to your own family now. I appreciate coming here, I wouldn't want my son growing up without a father."

She tried hard to hide the hurt in her voice.

"Pansy, she's dead."

She stopped.

"... I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"That's right, you wouldn't know."

Hurt. Stab.

"Exactly. Don't make me feel like," she covered Tedros' ears, "Don't make me feel like shit, ok?"

Speechless. He sharply breathed in, "I wasn't trying to, Pansy!" he replied, clenching his fist, "Look..." he began, tripping over his tongue.

She paused, and after three minutes that seemed to stretch out, "Good Bye, Blaise." She said finally.

Time was wasting. This was his only time.

"Pansy, fuck, Pansy I love you and have loved for the past five years!" he called out, hoping to get her to stop. But no, she kept on walking. Hurt. Shattered. Stabbed. He had fucked himself over, and over again.

He turned on heel, for the first time feeling the need to cry in public, without giving a rat's ass who were to witness it. 5 years he lost without her, and now his future was nothing but a blank period. No one wanted him, and he wanted no one.

He felt her brush against him, then her arms, and her soft lips pressing against his own. Was this another dream? Was he still in bed? Had he been knocked out from between then and now?

Then he felt it. The feeling deep squeeze within his chest, the warm, fuzzy, never-want to let go feeling.

Then she felt it. The feeling of deep squeeze within her chest, the warm, fuzzy, never-want to let go feeling.

They still wanted each other. And they got each other, and Tedros.

They'd fallen once, but not again.