Noses

Noses

The only noise in the Slytherin common room was the scritch of Draco Malfoy's quill as it raced across the parchment. He paused, bit the tip of his tongue, and frowned as his quill hung over the page. Why was this Charms essay so deuced difficult?

His eyes were starting to blur; he'd been at it for hours it seemed. A glance at the green and silver clock on the wall told him he'd only been writing for forty-five minutes. Damn. Damn Charms, and damn Flitwick for assigning such a stupid essay. Damn his father for insisting he pull up his marks. But if he wanted the new set of rare (and illegal) potions ingredients, then he had to pass Charms.

A sudden stream of loud cursing brought him out of his thoughts and he looked across the oak table. The shape of Pansy Parkinson blurred in front of him; he'd forgotten she was there. Everyone else had gone to bed not long ago. Blaise and Theodore told him they couldn't be buggered to help him with his essay and so he'd sent them running with a few swear words and the tarantallegra hex.

Pansy had been sitting there for over an hour playing with a deck of tarot cards. Every so often he'd hear her mutter, "No. That can't be right."

Now he looked at her, and she met his stare, her blue eyes filled with anger and disgust.

"I'm not going to marry you, Draco," she said as if he'd just proposed.

He had no idea what to say to that. "Who asked?"

She pointed down at the mess of cards she'd laid out. "I did. Well, not like that. I was inquiring into my future, and it seems to be pointing at you."

What an idea. Draco knew that marriages were often arranged among pureblood families, and the Parkinsons had that, at least, but Pansy was low on his list of suitable wives.

"Divination is rubbish," Draco pointed out, throwing down his quill. There was now a large ink stain on his perfectly crafted essay. With some more curses directed at his father, Flitwick, and women in general, he used his wand to make it disappear.

"This isn't the sort that bat Trelawney spews, Draco," Pansy said with a hint of impatience, as if he ought to recognise the fact. Draco could feel his level of annoyance rise; he hated it when she used that tone of voice. "These cards are reliable. But I am not going to marry you."

His patience (in its limited supply) was gone. He had the feeling he was being insulted, and he would not tolerate that from a member of his own House, particularly one below him.

"Why not?" he demanded. He wasn't used to being rejected before even making a move. He was Draco Malfoy after all. Bags of money and influence tended to cover any personality flaws. He was well aware that there were females in the school who weren't interested in what he had to offer, but they were girls he wouldn't date under any circumstances anyway. And in Slytherin he was considered a catch.

Pansy probably realised she struck a nerve, but she didn't seem to care. Instead she studied his face as if reading a text book, and replied with a casual shrug of her stocky shoulders, "Your nose."

"Excuse me?" He'd been expecting some reason like he was too rich for her, too good looking, too popular. Perhaps the standard, 'I can't trust you to remain monogamous,' which Draco had always thought was an excellent point.

"It's pointed," Pansy pointed out. "It makes you look like a rat."

Draco was speechless. He wasn't quite deluded enough to believe he 'sex on a stick' (despite what was written on the walls of the girls' loo), but there was nothing wrong with his looks! He was exceptionally good looking by Slytherin standards as the average snake tended to have been beaten repeatedly with an ugly stick; apparently it was difficult to match ambition and cunning with beauty. And she was a one to talk!

"Everyone calls you pug-faced," Draco retorted, acknowledging the fact that he sounded like a toddler. "So pot, kettle, black."

For the first time since the Yule Ball in their fourth year, Draco inspected his female friend. He'd taken her to the ball back then because she'd been just tall enough for a boy who hadn't yet reached his manly height, and she was a pretty fair conversationalist. They'd agreed then that they were just going as friends, partly to cover up the fact that neither had acquired dates before Potter.

She was not pretty, and not attractive. She did have a nose like a pug; Draco had long since stopped noticing. It dominated her face. Her blonde hair was shades darker than his, more like honey, and cut by someone who had performed a chopping charm with his eyes closed. Her cheekbones were high and pronounced partially hiding her eyes, which Draco privately thought were her best feature.

Pansy raised an eyebrow at his intense inspection. "See something you like?"

Blinking, Draco sat back in his chair. "Don't know how you can make comments about my nose with that monstrosity attacking your face. Pug indeed."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're on thin ice, Draco," she warned.

"You started it." There was that toddler mentality again. He'd have to shake that.

"Rat-face."

"Dog-face."

At the exact same time they reached for their wands. There was a cloud of purple smoke as their spells discharged together, each hitting its target.

Draco's nose twitched. Horrified, his hands went to his face; he nearly screamed.

She'd given him whiskers. An actual rat's nose and whiskers!

"You'll pay for that, Parkinson!" Draco bellowed, forgetting that he'd already cast his spell.

"Bark!" Pansy replied, grasping at her throat, her eyes wide. "Woof!"

Despite the annoying twitch of his nose, Draco fell over laughing. "Look like a dog, sound like a dog!"

"Grr," Pansy growled, gripping the table with her fake nails. Draco got the distinct impression she was cursing him in Dog.

His nose continued to twitch at an alarming rate. He clapped his hands over it. There was cheese somewhere in the room, and the smell was driving him mad. Damn Pansy.

"Okay, fine, I'll remove mine if you remove yours," Draco said, trying to restrain the impulse to get down on the ground and hunt the source of the smell. It was cheddar.

Pansy nodded, clearly afraid to speak. He realised he'd have to go first since she couldn't perform the incantation by barking.

"Finite incantatem."

Rubbing her throat as if the muscles were sore, Pansy removed her own spell. Then she glared at him, placing a few more cards down on the table.

"So what do you have against my nose considering yours would make Cyrano de Bergerac run away screaming?"

That caught her attention, but in a startled, somewhat disgusted way. "Where did you pick up that Muggle book, Draco?"

Draco was somewhat discomfited. He didn't want to admit he'd gone into a Muggle bookshop in London once. So he did what he was good at, and made something up.

"Shows what you know," he said in the tone of voice only those used to ordering servants around could achieve, "Edmond Rostand was a wizard. Muggle sympathiser, clearly, but that doesn't detract from the book."

She was still staring at him like he had proposed kissing Harry Potter after a quick shag with Ron Weasley. That simile made him squirm and he vowed never to use it again.

"You still haven't answered the question," Draco said quickly to change the subject. Not that the subject of his nose was a better one. "I didn't realise you were so superficial, Pansy. Not marrying a bloke because of his nose is rather cruel."

This got a smile out of her, and he decided that her smile, rarely used, was enough to boost her up a spot on his list of suitable wives, edging out second cousin Sabine du Longrey who had teeth like a horse but pots of money and an impeccable pedigree. Oh well, Pansy was still far from the top of the list.

"I didn't realise you were so interested in the idea," Pansy said, tilting her head and giving him a prolonged view of her engaging blue eyes. Perhaps she'd do better than Lisa Turpin, who, despite being beautiful, had the obvious flaw of being a Ravenclaw.

"I'm not," Draco replied. It's not a lie, he convinced himself. I'm not going to marry her. "I wouldn't marry you for all the gold in Gringott's. Answer the question, damn it."

"Now that's what a girl wants to hear," Pansy replied, clasping her hands and fluttering her eyelashes like he'd just made all her dreams come true. He snorted, and realised to his chagrin that the ability to make him laugh earned her a higher place on the list. So long, Katerina, he thought, placing Viktor Krum's younger sister below Pansy.

"My nose?" Draco said again, trying to get an answer out of her. Damn her, she was enjoying this. Pansy had made him insecure about his appearance with few words. He almost booted her down the list for the cruelty of the situation, but then he realised that she was a woman to reckon with and left her where she was, which, to his dismay, was much higher than where she'd started.

Pansy sighed and flicked some of the butchered hair from her face. Her complexion was clear, thank goodness. Nothing worse than a potential wife with spots. Goodbye, Daphne Greengrass, he added with a sigh. Even if her nose was horrible, at least it was on straight unlike that idiotic Hufflepuff who'd cursed hers off.

"If you really what to know, I just don't think mixing our genes would be a good idea." Why was she talking about laundry? When she realised he didn't understand, she clarified. "I'm talking about children, Draco. I'd be expected to produce a few brats, and imagine what would happen to their faces if we bred? My nose, yours, a combination of the two? It'd be a disaster. So, sorry, dear, but I've got to marry someone with a better nose than you."

"I cannot believe you're rejecting me solely because of my nose," Draco said, stunned. He really couldn't . What was worse was that he couldn't understand why he kept pushing this. He had no intention of marrying Pansy, so why did he care what her reasons for not wanting to marry him were?

Laughing, Pansy placed her elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands. "Well, if you're so desperate for a shag I'll give you a go, but I won't marry you, Draco. There are expectations of me."

"I've got expectations of me, too," Draco insisted. "And they don't include you."

"Oh? What are they then?"

Only to Pansy would he say these things, and only because they were alone. Damn it, she just climbed up the list again. After all, if he couldn't tell his wife his secrets, who could he tell?

"I've got to marry respectably," Draco said. They both knew what that meant; she was under the same constraints, though it would probably be easier for her to find a suitable husband. "And I'm expected to join."

Again, she knew exactly what he meant which was good because he didn't want to have to say it out loud.

"That's another thing," Pansy interrupted suddenly. "My husband won't be one of those."

"What?" She kept startling him, which wasn't good for his health. "Why not? Don't you believe in the cause?"

"Oh, I believe in it. I just believe there are better ways to go about it. And I support it, but I don't want to have to come home one night to find my husband has been killed by Aurors, thrown in Azkaban, or tortured to insanity. Think of the children."

"Ah, yes," Draco said, nodding. His Charms essay was long forgotten; this was much more interesting. "The hypothetical children. The reason you won't marry me."

Pansy did her best imitation of his smirk, the one she did at Slytherin parties, often at Blaise's request.

"The entire concept is hypothetical," Pansy said, "since you're not asking me. I don't see a ring."

Draco snorted again. "Please, you wouldn't want some enormous chip of glass on a piece of gold string, even if I was offering it."

She seemed pleased by his words. "Especially if you were offering. I've got to marry a handsome, pureblooded wizard, and while you come close, you lose by a nose."

Draco scowled. There was nothing wrong with his nose! "And where are you going to find this epitome of perfection?" A horrible thought occurred. "Not Blaise or Theodore!"

Pansy laughed. "Does that idea bother you? What's the matter, Draco, you don't think I'm good enough for them?"

"They're not good enough for you," Draco snapped, and then immediately wished he'd kept his big mouth shut.

Pansy's eyes widened slightly, and the corners of her mouth turned up. She didn't comment, however, and just dug around in her satchel, triumphantly pulling out a singed deck of cards.

"Want to play Exploding Snap?"

"Sure," he said, pushing his parchment aside. Damn, why had he said that? Where had it come from?

As Pansy dealt, Draco watched her, observing her little gestures. He enjoyed the way she snapped her fingers with impatience, as if ordering the world around. The tilt to her perfectly shaped eyebrows. He was captivated by the way she shifted her jaw from side to side. This was ridiculous, impossible. In only a few minutes of conversation, a hex, and traded insults, Pansy had shot up the list. She was, he thought, horrified, in second place. Pug-faced Pansy Parkinson, a girl he'd known almost all his life and had never shown any interest in before was now the runner up for the role of his wife.

Well, she was no Millicent Bulstrode, but at least he didn't have to worry; she could never beat number one. Quarter-Veela Fleur Delacour was the perfect trophy wife, exactly what an ambitious future Death Eater needed. He knew his father had already begun negotiations.

Pansy looked up. "It's your turn, Draco."

But...maybe he wanted more than a trophy wife. Maybe he wanted a wife who he could talk to, share secrets with. A wife whose power rivalled his. A wife with intelligence and wit. It was a disturbing idea.

After all, Fleur was gorgeous, but she was part-Veela, and as such would have all manner of men drooling over her. Like that idiot Weasley. He didn't want to have to spend the rest of his life fighting for the affections of his wife. And he couldn't trust her to be faithful. It should be the other way around.

He'd never have to worry about Pansy running around on him, not with a nose like that.

"What do you think of Weasley, Pansy?"

Her cards started to smoke as she looked at him with surprise and contempt. "Is that a trick question? If you think I'm so desperate for male companionship that I'd copulate with a blood traitor like Weasley, then I think you've lost what little sense you had left."

Ah, to hell with it. Au revoir, Madamoiselle Delacour.

"Marry me, Pansy." It wasn't a question, and he was emphatically glad they were alone, because he could feel the uncomfortable blush creep into his pale cheeks.

He wasn't quite sure what reaction he expected; with her it would be impossible to tell. He thought she might laugh, or maybe swear. He even braced himself for a slap across the face. Instead, Pansy just put down her cards and stared at him. Draco couldn't resist the pull of her fascinating blue eyes.

"I told you my husband won't be a Death Eater," she said quietly. "I'm not going to sit home alone and wait for news of your death or imprisonment."

"I don't have a choice," he said, surprising himself. With a quirk of his lips he added, "It was bred into me, like this nose."

To his ever-lasting shock, she took his hand, and he shivered. What the hell was this woman doing to him?

"Then may I suggest a rhinoplasty spell?"

Draco wondered what his father would say; for the first time in a long time he didn't really care.

"I believe in it, Pansy. I want to do my part."

"There are other ways to accomplish those goals without putting yourself on the Ministry's radar," Pansy pointed out.

"I think my last name already earned me a spot on their most wanted list as soon as I come of age," Draco replied wryly.

Pansy sighed, still gripping his hand. "Look, Draco, I believe that having pure blood makes us superior, and that mudbloods and Muggles taint the magic, but I want to find a way of showing it besides an ugly tattoo on my arm. Lots of things in this world can change, Draco. And one of them is your mind. It's your right."

She made a lot of sense, and it was tempting to see if he could find other ways of aiding the so-called Dark Side that wouldn't involve being branded like cattle.

She really was a fascinating person.

"Well, if I'm going to thwart the will of my father, I'm going to need a strong woman at my side," Draco said with his patented smirk.

Pansy stared at him in silence for a minute, then burst into laughter. "We are going to have the ugliest children alive."

"I can live with that," Draco said. And he could. Beauty often got in the way. He'd rather his children were ugly than stupid. And with him as the father and Pansy as the mother, they were looking at raising brilliance.

"Good night, Draco," Pansy said softly, coming to his chair and kissing him softly on his pointed nose.

"Good night, Mrs. Malfoy."