Exactly

i. exactly

It isn't exactly an arranged marriage- more of a marriage of convenience. They've known each other for ages, their parents are friends; they inhabit the same small world. Yes, it works out well, Pansy Parkinson marrying Draco Malfoy.

On her part, it's mostly convenience. She knows every single little thing about Draco- how he likes his tea (he doesn't), how he crosses his sevens (he doesn't), and how he likes her (he doesn't).

It's not quite that he doesn't like her- he does, in his own way. She is safe. Spotless bloodlines, good breeding, tactful taste, somewhat intelligent and averagely attractive, everything he needs in a wife. Maybe not what he wants, but after all, what he wants is arbitrary.

So the marriage begins with two children, essentially, each with their needs fulfilled but not their desires, each a little lost. Two children, just out of school, playing house.

That's what it feels like, anyway.

It's exactly four years and three days after they first got engaged, and not a day goes by that they don't wish each other death.

ii. schedules

Their days are regular. They have breakfast at nine, Draco sits in the study until lunch, Pansy takes a walk, goes over the menu for the next day, they have lunch at twelve, Draco goes flying, Pansy goes shopping and visits friends. A short siesta at three, tea at four. Drinks at seven-thirty, dinner at eight. Bed at ten-thirty.

On Wednesdays, Pansy tells Draco she's visiting Millicent, but she actually visits Theodore Nott.

Well. More than "visits", really.

She manages to convince herself that she isn't exactly being unfaithful, because what she and Draco have isn't exactly a marriage. She's not really sure what it is.

iii. dinner invitations

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it." Pansy specializes in statements that should be questions.

He looks up, briefly. "Yes. The sky is rather blue."

"It is, isn't it. Oh, that reminds me- I ordered gardenias. I'm thinking of having them put in the southwest corner of the garden- what do you think."

"It sounds fine. What time are the Notts coming over for dinner?"

"Just Theodore, remember. She died." There's a pause.

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten that." He takes a sip of his drink, and goes back to reading his paper.

"Eight," she says suddenly.

He looks up again. "What?"

"Eight. Theodore Nott is coming for dinner at eight."

"Yes, of course." He stares at her like she's gone mad.

"You asked me what time he was coming. Eight."

"Oh, did I? Well...yes...I suppose I did..." He goes back to reading his paper.

Pansy sighs a sigh that no one but herself hears, and stares out the window. The sky is rather blue today.

iv. the day the sky almost fell in

For once in his life, Draco Malfoy can't speak, only stare. He stares at the letter in his hand, like he hasn't already seared every single line into his memory. He hears footsteps behind him but he doesn't care.

"Draco, what are you-" she stops suddenly, "oh god."

He doesn't bother to turn around, only drops the letter like it's contaminated. Wordlessly, he pushes past her.

"Draco, wait."

He walks faster. He has no idea even where he's going.

"Please wait."

He reaches his study, and manages to slam the door in her face. He locks it, then leans against it, unsure of everything. He hears her sigh, through the door.

"Please open the door, Draco."

He folds his arms.

"Please."

Then, only the silence, which drives them both slowly mad.

He opens the door. "What do you want?"

"Can we talk about this?"

"What's there to talk about?"

"I'm sorry you found out, okay? I'm sorry."

"How could you?" he suddenly hisses at her.

She looks down.

"You're such a whore. Probably the biggest one that's ever been in Slytherin, and that's saying something."

She doesn't say anything.

"Who do you think you fucking are, Pansy? How can you...I married...we...I...you make me sick, do you know that? Get out of here. I don't want to look at you." He goes over to the window.

He turns back around because there's an odd sound coming from where Pansy is. She's crumpled, shaking, against the door, her hand over her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut.

"I said, get out," he says lowly. She turns her face away from him, crying into the door.

He picks up an inkbottle, and flings it against the window. It shatters, glass and ink going everywhere. "I SAID GET OUT." She only sobs harder.

He strides over to her, and says dangerously, "I said-"and she actually cowers, shrinks back from him as if he was about to hit her. Suddenly he hates himself, every single little thing about himself. Everything goes out of him. "Just leave. Please."

She shakes her head, tears still pouring out.

So he leaves instead, wondering how the hell everything went so wrong.

v. the day it got better

Every Sunday, they go to the cemetery. It's a chore that Pansy loathes.

"Are you ready yet?" he asks, impatiently, with no sign of yesterday's storm.

She fixes a black velvet choker around her neck. "Almost." She frowns at herself. Velvet is too heavy for May...pearls too frivolous...she opts for a black satin ribbon instead.

"I don't know why you do this every time. It's not like we're seeing anybody live there."

"Just go and wait for me in the entrance hall, won't you." She surveys herself in the gilt-framed mirror, smoothing the black short-sleeved drop waist chiffon robes. Somehow, the choker looks funny with the neckline...aha! The opals will do lovely.

"PANSY!"

"I'm coming, Draco, just a minute." She deftly twists her hair up, leaving a strand or two hanging for effect, then attaches a clever little black hat complete with a short net veil. Her final touches are black elbow length silk gloves.

When she finally comes down, he glares at her. "You look ridiculous."

"Maybe so, but at least I look better than you," she holds out her hand, "my parasol, if you would. Not that one. The black lace one."

He hands it to her. "Can we go now?"

"You have the flowers?"

He holds up a bouquet of white and black roses.

"Excellent. Off we go, then."

He offers her his arm. She takes it, and they begin their walk.

Every Sunday morning, they take a forty-five minute walk down to the Malfoy family cemetery. Pansy tends to dress up, even wearing heels and Draco just wears his usual black robes. She can't explain to herself why she dresses up. Draco is right, it's not like I'm seeing anyone live there...still. Unconsciously, she feels like all of the Malfoy ancestors are glaring down at her- judging her. Probably even gossiping about her. It's like I'm not good enough to be a Malfoy. So she dresses extravagantly, feeling still incredibly naked.

The walk usually is silent, except for the sound of shoes kicking up gravel.

"You know, Draco," she says, breaking the silence for once, "we really must get this gravel replaced. A stone walkway would do lovely, I think. Gravel kicks up far too much dust- look at the state of our robe hems."

"This gravel has been here since Hugo Malfoy built the manor, in 1687."

"All the more reason we should get it replaced, darling."

"Please don't call me darling. Darling is for small children and puppies, and I am neither one nor the other."

"Oh, aren't you though," she says, under her breath, "as I can most certainly see a striking resemblance to the first."

"Excuse me?"

"I said fine, what ever you think best. I forgot that I have no authority over such matters," she says, scathingly.

He says nothing. "The gravel stays."

"Whatever you like, darling."

They've reached the heavy wrought-iron gates. Pansy gives a slight shudder as they creak open.

They stroll along the main walkway. She avoids looking at the busts and statues on top of the headstones, and tries hard not to think of corpses buried just under the grass. Bones and bits of skin and...death. Death. They reach the last gray stone mausoleum.

"Aren't you going to go in."

"No- I can't. Not yet." He gently lays the bouquet down at the steps.

She sighs, and adjusts her veil slightly. He stares at the entwined hands sculpted above the door.

"He never hit her, you know."

This takes her aback. "I never said he did."

He chances a glance. "I know but yesterday when we were fighting, you thought I was going to hit you. You actually shrank back into the corner."

"You were angry," she says in a small voice, fiddling with her gloves. She wouldn't have blamed him for hitting her.

"But I would never hit you. What kind of person do you think I am?"

She meets his gaze. "I honestly don't know anymore, Draco."

"Maybe you never knew."

"I don't think I did."

"I never wanted this." It comes out far rawer than he intended it to come out, a little more desperate than he wanted it to be, but it's out.

She doesn't look away. "Neither did I," she sighs, her voice tired, "But it's here and we have to deal with it."

Suddenly his temper flares. "Fine. Let's deal with it. Shall we start with Nott?"

She looks down. "Please don't bring him into this."

"Pansy," he says, staring at her, "you've been fucking him behind my back for god knows how long, with a smile on your face the entire time. I think we need to deal with it."

"I don't know why you care so much, Draco. It's not like we ever have sex," she says it so bluntly that it stings, causing him to hiss, "How long?"

"Four months," she lies.

"How long?" he asks, dangerously.

She pulls at her glove. "A year and a half."

He stops, then the realization hits him. "But that's before-"

"Before Daphne died."

He stares at her. "You're sick."

"Oh, right, because you're really in a position to give me moral lectures?"

"I've never been unfaithful to you."

"You've never cared enough to."

"Nope."

"So what, you've suddenly developed scruples after the war? Suddenly care about what's right and what's wrong? What Theodore and I have- it's right. He cares about me, Draco. He really actually cares about me. And I really actually care about him."

"Why didn't you marry him, then?"

She shrugs. "It didn't start until after we got married."

"Sure it didn't."

"Listen, when I married you, I would've died for you, okay? I would've loved you forever. Forever."

"You can stop acting, Pansy, no one is watching."

"You don't understand. I loved you. And I thought we would be okay. You were different, sure, but I figured it would just take a little time for you to open up again. But instead, it just got worse and worse."

"You didn't see what I saw."

"Cut the bullshit. Don't act like you were the only one who had to see things they never wanted to see. We all saw it, okay, Draco? We all saw death. And terror. And death. And I have no idea how we got out of it, only that we did."

"I got you out of it. The only reason you switched was because of me."

"Don't give yourself so much credit. I considered switching months before you talked to me."

"Sure you did. Pansy, we both know you would've stayed on his side until he was defeated if I hadn't talked to you. And look how you repay me."

"Is that what is this? Is this...whole thing...did you think I married you to repay my debt to you?"

"I don't know why you married me."

"I married you because I was in love with you. Not to repay you, not because of your money, or your family, or because I felt bad for you, but because I loved you. Why is that so hard to comprehend?"

"Because you don't seem like a person capable of loving."

"Neither do you. But you married me anyway."

"I didn't marry you for love."

"I know you didn't. So why?"

"Because...because you were there. And because it seemed like the thing to do, I don't know."

"Of course. You married me because I was there. Typical Draco, really."

"At least I didn't marry you because I loved you."

"Would it have really been so bad, Draco- loving me?"

"I can't think of any crueler form of torture."

"Oh, I can. But I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. I don't love you anymore."

"What a surprise. Really, I almost had a heart attack."

"You can't have heart attacks, darling, if you don't have a heart."

"So do you love Nott?"

"I don't know."

"Did she know?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

"So?"

"So she did know."

"It doesn't matter."

"But it does. Killed herself, didn't she?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, if I remember correctly, she did. Poison...wonder if it was because she found out?"

"She didn't love him."

"Now, that's absurd. She was head over heels in love- didn't even care that he was penniless."

"I didn't kill her."

"Oh, I know you didn't. That would take courage. And you don't have that."

"Maybe if you weren't such an asshole, I would've never-"

"Found Theodore Nott to comfort you? That's right, Pansy, blame it all on me. It's all my fault, isn't it?"

"I'm just saying. Things would be different if you actually cared about me."

"You don't think I do?"

She stares at him. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

She can't decipher the look on his face. "Why haven't you killed him yet?"

He shrugs. "You would hate me for it."

"So?"

He looks at her. "Pansy."

And she bites her lip, and somehow, ends up pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her hat falls off, and her updo is coming apart, but for once, she could care less. "Thank you," she whispers.

He closes his eyes, and firmly kisses the top of her forehead. "Are you going to stop and give us a chance?"

"If you want that chance."

"I do. The question is, do you?"

She pauses, her voice low. "I think I've always wanted it."

They drink in the silence for a while, just holding each other.

He brushes a loose strand of hair away from her face. "We'll be all right, you know."

She closes her eyes, resting her head in his neck. "I know. I know."

It's not exactly love, but it's enough.