When You Least Expect It
by hasapi

Author's Notes: Hah! I knew I was insane… Wanna know something? I am, right now, writing about ten fics. I have another ten in planning. *evil laugh* Wanna know something else? I'll be getting even more ideas, probably at least one a week. *shrugs* But hey, nothing new, at least not to me. This is the prequel to Last Will and Testament, and probably won't be posted until that is finished, but hey, no guarantees. I might actually put that one on hold to write this one… *shrugs* We'll see. Nothing's positive till it happens.

Pairing: Harry Potter / Pansy Parkinson (I'm not going to bother hiding it; it's rather apparent from the summary)

Rating: R ('cause I wanna be bad! *grins*)

Summary: Harry Potter, seeker extraordinaire, was tired of being sought out for only his fame, fortune, and good looks. Pansy Parkinson had given up hope that there were any good men out there. Funny they should find each other...

Disclaimer: Hehe, did you think I owned this? Well think again!!

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Chapter 1

Screw all men, Pansy Parkinson thought vehemently as she dug into her salad with unusual gusto. Well, she reflected thoughtfully, not literally. They really wouldn't deserve that.

She didn't mean it in a good way.

Pansy had just broken up with…oh, what had it been? Her fourth boyfriend in five months? Blast it all, she really should just kill herself to save someone else the misery.

Well, she didn't mean it literally. Pansy didn't really want to die, but that didn't mean that she couldn't brood, now did it?

Steve had actually been the nicest one. And what had happened? Well, because of the fact that two of her previous boyfriends had been cheating on her, she had been sure to take note of any strange behaviors or disappearances on his part. They'd been going out for a month, and blast it; she'd been beginning to like him.

At least a little. They'd laughed and talked and had fun, but then she'd found the picture of Annalyse on his desk. And then she'd found them snogging on it a few hours later… They had come dangerously close to shagging, in fact, and would have, had she not walked in.

What was wrong with her? What in the name of Merlin was so wrong with her that she could not hold onto a man? She knew it wasn't her looks; she wouldn't have been asked out in the first place if that were the problem.

Maybe it was her looks, in a demented sort of way, she mused. Maybe they found her pretty, but then became bored with her. In a way it wouldn't be surprising. Good looks could only get you so far, after all. It had been one of the reasons her father had been so anxious for her to get a real job. Robert Parkinson had also been sure that the family fortunes couldn't last forever.

How right he had been.

It really was her mother's fault, she reflected, playing with the lettuce on her plate. Had the woman not been so completely devoted to Voldemort, devoting all their resources towards him, perhaps their fortunes wouldn't have been depleted by the beginning of her seventh year. They'd barely had enough money to deck her out in style… Meaning that her mother, Cordelia, had been even more anxious to marry her daughter off to Draco Malfoy.

Pansy shuddered. Honestly. She would never marry Draco. He wasn't that bad, she supposed, and she did love him—but she loved him like a brother, and she really didn't want to have sex with him. It would totally screw up their relationship… Funny how literally that could be taken.

Was it really any surprise that she had spied for the light? Her father, had he not been so weak-minded, would have joined the light himself… But of course, he hadn't. For some strange reason, he loved Cordelia. Pansy sincerely wondered whether her mother had ever returned the sentiment. It seemed impossible, the woman was so cold and unfeeling…but there must have been some reason she married him.

But then again, was it any surprise that she had? Robert Parkinson had been one of the most influential people in the Ministry at the time, not to mention his large fortunes. And perhaps Cordelia had led him to believe she loved him.

Pansy sighed. She didn't know why she kept trying to figure it out. There really was no use.

"Hello, mind if I sit here?" a deep baritone voice inquired above her.

She glanced up, growling inwardly. She never stopped attracting men, did she? And they would always run again, oh so soon…

Pansy shook her head, not realizing that this was an open invitation for the man to sit down across from her. Ooh, how she just wanted to leave… But she wasn't that rude. And the man wasn't that bad looking. His dirty blond hair was cut just above his ears, and he had striking blue eyes.

It was the eyes that intrigued her. They reminded her of Draco… Which was probably a bad thing for the guy, since he was no doubt attracted to her.

She sighed. All men were attracted to her. It might have sounded vain, but to her it was the truth. An awful truth, if she were honest with herself. And she tended to be honest with herself…

"Excuse me?" the man asked, pausing above his soup.

"What?" Pansy said, startled.

"I asked you what your name was," he said, a small smile on his lips.

"Oh," she blushed slightly, "Pansy Parkinson."

The man frowned. "Parkinson?"

Pansy sighed. There was another problem. When they found out who she was, that she was related to Cordelia Parkinson, they ran. Well, not all of them. Then again, it always seemed it was the bad ones that didn't run. And it really wasn't that surprising. "Yes, my name is Pansy Parkinson; yes, my mother was Cordelia Parkinson; yes, she is spending a lifetime in Azkaban for use of the Unforgivens on Muggles," she finished angrily, standing and grabbing her purse. She nodded at Tom, who saluted her with his dishrag, a slight smirk evident on his elderly features.

Collapsing against the wall outside the Leaky Cauldron, Pansy allowed a few tears to trickle down her cheeks. She had no love for her mother, but the hatred that lived in her heart often found reason to grow, as she was discriminated against because of the Death Eater.

Hearing commotion inside the pub, and guessing that the man was attempting to follow her, Pansy made sure she had her wand and Disapparated to the walk outside her flat in a primarily Wizard section on the edge of London. Staring at the small brick apartment, she sighed, knowing that she couldn't go inside. She needed to talk to someone… And she knew just who that someone was.

***

Harry Potter, seeker extraordinaire, glared angrily at Hedwig. She had letter tied to her leg, and tilted her head, cooing at him. She held the letter out to him and Harry untied it carefully, not wishing to harm the messenger. He had no idea who it was from, but assumed it to be one of his close friends, since, in her later years, Hedwig had become very temperamental and would not allow just anyone to handle her.

He took a deep breath, opening the letter. He wasn't really expecting anything bad, but he hadn't heard from his friends in a while. That, he supposed, was more his fault than it was theirs. After all, he'd practically cut off all communication with the outside world last year—and that had included his two best friends.

Dear Harry,

I hope that you're doing well. I know that you're on your way to leading your team to another World Quidditch Cup, but I do hope that you're doing well besides that. Well, I am writing this letter really for one specific reason: to ask you to come with me to a ball at the Ministry next Friday. No, it is not a date—I'm still going out with Jeff. He won't be able to come; a business trip, I think he said. I just want you to get out of your mansion. Live a little, Harry! Please respond.

Love,

Hermione

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. Hermione's letter was so goddamn heartfelt that he really didn't feel he could refuse her. And she'd underlined 'please.' But he'd lived in his self-secluded state for the past…year almost. A year. He hadn't even realized it had been that long.

The green-eyed young man sat down in his chair tiredly, glancing around the kitchen. It was home, he would be the first to admit it. But… It was also devoid of human contact. He hadn't talked to anyone besides his teammates in at least three months, and hadn't seen his best friends in five. He hadn't seen the Finnigans in six. He wondered if Ginny had gotten pregnant yet. She and Seamus had been trying since… Well, it seemed like forever. Ever since they'd gotten married… Had it already been five years?

He had lost touch with all of his friends, that was for certain. And why was that? Because… He just… Couldn't face it anymore. He hated being the center of attention, hated people—alright, women—wanting to be with him just for that fact. He was a prime candidate to be used… And he had been.

He just wanted to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?

He shook his head, dropping it into his hand and staring out the window at the moor. It seemed so dreary. Truthfully, it was rather dreary. But what was he going to do about it? He wasn't living a real life no matter what happened. Either it was like this, with almost no human contact, or it was out there, with so much that it sickened him. And it wasn't as though the human contact was like his friends, who treated him like a real person… It was everyone else. It was everyone who was ecstatic about meeting Harry Potter, the Man Who Lived and Defeated Voldemort. It was everyone who wanted to use that meeting to their advantage, whether it be for good or for fame.

He'd had numerous girlfriends after leaving Hogwarts. The first one he'd loved. Jessica. She'd been beautiful, and she'd really seemed to care about him. But then he'd stopped by her apartment when she hadn't been expecting him, and he'd heard her speaking with a man about him. The man had asked whether she was any closer to getting into his Gringotts vault. She had answered, her voice devoid of emotion, that she had a feeling he would be proposing soon.

What had really hurt was that he'd had the ring with him, at that time. He had been ready to ask her. He had loved her, he really had. And it had turned out all she wanted was his money. He'd walked in, his face and eyes cold, and handed her the ring. Told her to go cash it in; he wouldn't be needing it.

And since then, he'd kept his distance from his girlfriends, using them for one thing only. Sex. And he had a feeling that they were using him for the fame, so he didn't feel bad about it. That was why he'd really only dated models and politicians.

But after a while, he just got sick of it. Really sick of it. He wanted a real relationship, like his parents had had. A real relationship, like Ginny and Seamus had. Like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Like Colin and Neville. Like John (his Keeper) and Marie. Like… Just like so many other couples he knew from school and work and everything, everywhere. Everyone had real relationships—except him. What had he done to deserve it? He'd just defeated the Dark Lord. That was all.

So he'd said screw it all, and had broken up with Andrea, his latest flavor-of-the-month, and retreated into his Quidditch team. He had led them to the World Quidditch Cup with his die-hard attitude. He wouldn't let anything get in his way. None of his opponents had ever stood a chance.

And he was doing it again. They hadn't lost a single match since the beginning of the season, and the semi-finals were almost over. He had a feeling they would win, again—especially now that the team had made him captain, despite his age.

So why shouldn't he just go with Hermione? She needed a partner, after all. And he hadn't seen her in five months. Harry sighed. Who would have thought it had been so long?

He scribbled off a reply, telling her he'd drop by her apartment at seven the day of the ball.

Well. He supposed he might as well go see about locating some dress robes. He wouldn't want to be caught unawares on Friday. Who knew? Maybe he would actually meet someone he could talk to.