golden longings

XXXVIII

***

Truly, Pansy had known him almost all his life. So it wasn't a stretch to relax into the belief that she simply knew his tells better than most. And that she spent more time observing him in a way fit to notice them.
But being lulled into that feeling felt like a trap.

Because there was a chance that she was wrong. And that if she knew, others did as well. Beyond his circle of most trusted friends.
Which would have been a mild catastrophe.

But there was also a chance that she was right. Keeping up a facade was, after all, a skill he had feigned and perfected for most his life.
It was entirely possible that he wasn't obvious, she just cared enough to notice. And he could barley claim that there were many others who cared about him the way she did.
No one really, besides his mother and Blaise.
And maybe, just maybe, Harry Potter could one day be up there as well.

He shoved that thought into the pile of things to think about later, in favour of deciding whether or not she had succeeded in calming his upcoming panic.
And he came to the conclusion that she did.
His breathing wasn't rapid and his heart rate was no further from normal than it had been at any other point of the night.

Which was far from a healthy rate to be beating at, but the beats hadn't grown any more uncomfortable.
And the odd fluttering in his stomach hadn't turned to sickness.
Which were circumstances he wasn't inclined to chance and so he decided to believe her.
Just for the moment. If the feeling of relative safety was a trap, he was consciously stepping into it.

To revel in the feeling of happiness that lingered even without Harry's presence a little longer.

Even in that relatively contempt state, the question of how long she had been expecting him to say this wouldn't leave him alone.
"Whatever do you mean by 'some time', Pans?"
Though what he meant to inquire was rather if there was a chance that she had known before he himself had.

Which he thought to be possible, since he had barely any idea when he had began to feel the way he did. All he knew was that it had been a while.
It had taken him long to recognize his feelings, not to develop them.
But he wasn't sure if he should really believe her to know him better than he even knew himself.

The smile on her face had softened from the dramatic expression she wore before.
"Just a bit longer than I suspect you would be comfortable with."
Which he supposed to mean that she had indeed known before him. Or suspected, at least.
"I'm willing to let your awfully inconcrete answer slide if you answer me this: did you know or merley suspect?"

It had to be the latter. He was sure of it. But then, he had lost some faith in his own judgement. He had been convinced that he hated Harry Potter for years.
Which was most certainly a misjudgment of the situation.
"I couldn't have known for sure, so I suspected. But strongly so."

Which, coming from her, meant nothing other than that she had been convinced ans only refrained from saying so for his comfort.
"How is that even possible when I just figured it out myself?"
"The way you looked over at him in the great hall. Every meal I watched your eyes roam the Gryffindor table for him. And the excessive teasing."
She chuckled lightly and he couldn't help but huff a laugh himself before she continued.

"No one tries to get under ones skin so desperately out of hatred. No. You were just always attempting to get his attention. It took a few years, but I drew my conclusions."
He couldn't deny justification for her mocking him. His younger self had been too conceited for his own good.