Disclaimer: I by no means own any of the characters, names, or places used herein, all of these are copyright the dear J.K. Rowling. Rated M for language, suggestive content, and possible future naughtiness.

Chapter One

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Golden Boy, Slayer of Voldemort, Boy Who Wouldn't Die, and a hundred other names the media had given him, sat at the bar of a nondescript Muggle pub outside of London. Kinda, really, outside of London. He nursed a scotch as he stared blankly at the wall behind the bar, completely ambivalent to the people around him. He was here to avoid other wizards and witches, to lose himself in the drink and his depressing thoughts. Unwelcome thoughts, usually, the prominent one being how alone he'd been for the last seven years. He shuddered and his eyes teared up as he remembered stumbling into the castle's great hall after Voldemort disintegrated on the morning wind, and seeing the Weasley clan gathered around two bodies. Molly Weasley, matriarch and mother of seven flame-haired children, laying in repose next to the youngest of those children…and Harry's girlfriend, Ginny.

They stood outside the pub and looked in the window. They were all pretty sure the dark haired figure at the bar was who they were looking for, and the tallest of the three started for the door. "Stop!", one of the others said. "Do you want him to run again? Let me go in." The other two exchanged glances and then looked back at her, nodding reluctantly.

Harry had completely broken down when the reality set in. He'd seen her moments before the confrontation with Voldemort, and she was fine. What he was told later hurt his heart more than anything he'd gone through. Molly had pulled Ginny out of the way of a killing curse fired by Bellatrix LeStrange, only to be hit by it herself. Attempting to avenge her mother, Ginny had killed Lestrange, but was caught by a killing curse from two other death eaters.

She sauntered into the bar, checked her coat at the door and took a moment to look at herself in the entryway's mirror. The silver and black dress had just a hint of sparkles and hugged her shapely curves well, ending just at mid thigh. Dark hose followed her legs down to silver and black high heels. She tucked her clutch purse under her arm and weaved her way through the patrons to the bar, giving icy glares to any man that turned to ogle her. The seat next to him was empty, she just needed to wait for the right moment….

Harry grabbed a bar napkin and mopped at the tear tracks on his face, forcing himself to stop crying. Seven years, and nobody he'd found could take her place. The pain and the memories were still just as fresh. Oh he'd tried. Merlin knows he'd tried. He'd dated several other girls…including Hermione at one point during a spat she was having with Ron, but although they enjoyed each other's company, when they kissed there was no passion. Harry had resolved that he'd be alone until he died. Perhaps that was best, he'd thought. In fact, even better to remove himself from that world entirely. He'd quit his job as Auror and disappeared after Ron and Hermione's wedding. As he lifted his glass to take another sip, someone grabbed his shoulder to balance themselves as they sat on the empty stool next to him, causing his arm to move and spill his drink. "Oh, so sorry there! Let me get you another one, and thanks for the leg up," a warm, decidedly female voice said. He turned his head to decline, and looked into a set of deep brown eyes set in a porcelain skinned face framed by obsidian black hair. A familiar face, with that slightly upturned nose and calculating cast to her eyebrows. "Parkinson?" He said, surprised.

"Perfect timing, as always," she thought to herself.

"Potter! Fuck, if I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have sat here, much less offered to fix the drink," Pansy Parkinson said spitefully.

"It's ok," Harry replied. "I can get my own. No need to be charitable."

She rolled her eyes. "For Merlin's sake, it was my fault. I'll get you another one."

He concedes, and grabs some napkins to wipe off where the liquor spilled on his arm. She rolls her eyes again and surreptitiously casts a drying charm. "You DO still know how to do magic, Potter?" she says, derisively.

"We're in a MUGGLE pub, Parkinson!" he whispers harshly. "I'm trying to be discreet."

"Oh," she responds, taken aback a little. "You're right. That's why I'm in here. Wait. Why are YOU in here?" she demands, arching one perfectly formed eyebrow at him.

He sighed. "Same thing," and drained what was left of his drink. He tried to ignore her presence while the bartender brought another scotch for him and the vodka martini she had requested, but it was difficult. He could ignore the Muggles, he'd had lots of practice at that. But someone he once knew…the very girl who'd tried to turn him over to Voldemort during the Battle…at that thought, Ginny's lifeless body laying there intruded on his memory. He shook his head hard to get the thought out.

She saw the emotions play out over his face, and knew he was thinking of the Weasley girl. Was that the reason he left? Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it for the moment. She needed to get him to verbalize.

They sat in silence for a moment, then she nudged him with an elbow. "Come on, Potter, catch me up on your sordid secrets, your impassioned affairs, your deep dark and dirties?" She looked at him from the corner of her eye as she sipped her martini. "Let's grab a table and talk."

He blinked in surprise, but then shrugged. "Sure, I guess. If there's anything to talk about. Although I guess you'd be just deLIGHted to hear about me being miserable."

Harry looked at the bartender and nodded his head at an empty corner table. The bartender looked, nodded in response, and pointed at a short blonde waitress. Harry nodded in reply and led Pansy over to the table. He looked around carefully, and pulled his wand from his sleeve, murmuring "Muffliato". "There. Nobody can hear us here, so we can talk freely. What do you want, Parkinson?"

Pansy chuckled. "Same as you, I expect. Trying to hide away from the wizards and witches." She sneered a little at him. "Trying to hide from your fame, I expect?" She waited til his glass was at his lips. "Or are you trying to spread The Greatness That Is Harry The Chosen One Potter to the Muggle women?" She dove to the side to avoid the spray of scotch that spewed from his mouth as he reacted. She laughed at being able to predict his reaction so.

As he grabbed a napkin and wiped off his mouth, she chuckled and leaned back in her chair. With his attention focused on cleaning up, she slipped her cell phone out of her purse and shot off a quick text message. He caught her, though, putting the phone back in her purse. "What was that?" he asked, frowning.

"He's here, give me a few to find out why. will reply soon," Pansy sent to Hermione.

Pansy raised one elegant eyebrow and chuckled. "Just checking my email, Potter. We may be wizards but this is the modern age, and I have a business to run. Making sure my fabric order will be here on time." She unlocked the screen to read the reply, swiped it to oblivion as well as her initial message, and then locked the screen again. "Now. You didn't answer my question…" she trails off, lifting one eyebrow elegantly.

"He's there? Great! Let us know when we can come in," the response said.

Harry frowned, not completely convinced that was business related, but shrugged in response to her. "Avoiding everyone, mainly. Have been for a while now." He took a sip of his drink, now that his nose had cleared enough to do so. "Quit my job as an Auror a couple years back and moved out here. Tired of the fame and fortune, as you put it, since I couldn't take two steps or have a meal without someone interrupting me. We need this, we need that, can we have an autograph, my sister is just LOVELY and you should come over for dinner, oh LOOK! it's The Name of the Week!" He spat the last sentences out with disgust. Her eyebrow dropped a little. This was not exactly the Harry she expected to find.

She'd always thought he was an arrogant son of a bitch, and as he first started talking that didn't change. But as he spoke, she realized it wasn't that at all. He really, truly didn't want the attention. This was a wrinkle in the plan.

Laughing under his breath he took another swig of the scotch, emptying the glass. He waved at the little blonde waitress and mouthed the word "bottle". She nodded, and immediately brought over a full bottle of scotch and a clean glass. "Here you go sir!" she said, brightly, and turned to Pansy. "Can I get you anything, Miss?" Pansy blinked. She'd never seen a common barmaid this efficient, but replied "Another vodka martini, please."

Harry spoke up, "Snow Queen, please," and the girl nodded and dashed off, returning a moment later with Pansy's drink and an insulated tumbler full as well. Harry thanked her and she left the area for other tables. He looked over at Pansy and saw her left eyebrow declaring war on her hairline. "What? It's the top shelf here. I do know this about you, Parkinson. You don't accept less than the best. Go ahead, try it."

He's ordering 25 year old scotch, and one of the 5 best vodkas in the world that I would not have thought they'd have in a place like this, and that girl sure is hopping to it for him. This gets curiouser and curiouser," she thought to herself. "Need to make them wait longer. There's something going on here that she needed to figure out before smarty pants and her idiot husband burst in here and spooked them."

"I know what Snow Queen vodka is, Potter. I assume you're picking up the tab, then?" She took a sip and closed her eyes as the liquor spilled back over her tongue and down her throat, cooling and then warming as it went. "My, my, that IS excellent," she admitted.

Pulling out a cigar cutter, Harry expertly sliced the foil off his bottle of scotch and pried the cork out. She watched, quietly, as this seemed very ritualistic. Harry sniffed the end of the cork deeply, and closed his eyes. "Perfect," he breathed out. He set the cork down on the table and took the bottle by the neck. Swirling it around, he the deep amber liquor into his glass. His movements were slow, fluid, and purposeful, and she watched in amazement as the liquid flowed into the glass in a circular wave. Harry tilted the bottle up and set it on the table. As the scotch came to a standstill in the glass, she could see it was a perfect two fingers deep. "Impressive, Potter," she said as quietly as she could.

He lifted the glass up and inhaled deeply, then took a sip. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Thanks," and she realized he had not opened his eyes since he sniffed the cork. She found herself well and truly impressed. She cleared her throat and took a sip of her own drink. "So you've abandoned the wizarding world and run away to live the life of a drunk amongst the Muggles, hmm?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Yes and no. I didn't turn my back on them. If I'm needed, I'll be back. I keep my ear to the ground. And I'm no drunk. I just have time now to appreciate the craft that goes into these bottles." She snorted and looked away.

Her phone buzzed and she picked it up, read the message, and rolled her eyes. She replied quickly and then deleted both again, tossing the phone in her purse. "Well, I'm sure as the heir of two houses you can afford to get your Hunter S Thompson on." He blinked at her. Frowning, she said "American author. You really should have read more than spellbooks, Potter."

"Can we come in now? We need to see him!" the text from Hermione read. Pansy sent back "Go back to the hotel, much more going on than we know. Will update you later. Promise."

She picked up the food menu from the table. "How's the food in this shit hole?" she asked. She did not notice the crease in his forehead or the intake of breath at her words. She widened her eyes a little at the menu list. "There...there are no prices. On a bar menu. That's...highly irregular."

Harry smirked. "If you want dinner, we should go upstairs."

"Is he coming on to me? I'd never have thought THAT would happen."

Pansy blinked. "Upstairs? Is there a restaurant up there?"

"Something like that," Harry replied, with a sly smile. "I'll show you."

She knew she shouldn't, but something pulled her. There was more to this story.

A/N: This is my first foray into published fanfiction, and I hope you enjoy the story. Critique welcomed! This is my favorite pairing in the Wizarding World, and I love how surprisingly flexible you can be with Miss Parkinson. I'm posting this and the second chapter together to wet your whistles, with hopefully more to come in the coming weeks. I don't know as that this will reach the epic levels of some novellas I've seen here, but I will tell you a complete story, I promise. Thanks for reading!