Those Wrong, Yet it's Right, Things

Chapter 17

If you say what you think, don't expect to hear only what you like.

~Malcolm Forbes

Pansy woke to a horrible pain in the back of her head and struggled to open her eyes. Hearing a conversation around her, she quickly closed them again. She hadn't really gotten a look at where she was, but the heavy iron she felt holding her wrists were hardly a welcoming thought.

"Excellent job, My Lord. I have spoken to the others and they have agreed to your brilliant plan. They may have won the battle, but it is us who will win the war."

"But you're wrong, Goyle," a familiar spoiled voice said. "They didn't win the battle, they only think they have. We took their three most valuable assets." Pansy could hear the smirk form on his lips.

"How foolish of me, My Lord, of course."

"I want you to go secure the place," the voice ordered.

"My Lord, we've placed numerous protection spells around the manor. Not even Dumbledore himself could find a way in."

"Did that fool survive?" The man laughed at the absurdity of it.

"I do believe so, My Lord."

His demeanor quickly changed he replied harshly, "That does not please me, Goyle."

"Of course not. I'll see what we can do on handling the matter, Sir."

"Don't bother, it'll be too suspicious. Let the fool bask in his victory. If he doesn't die of old age he'll be dead before the end."

"Excellent idea, My Lord."

"I've had enough of your praise, Goyle, go away." There was a swishing of robes and shuffling and the creaking of a heavy door being opened.

"Wait, you idiot," the voice said, changing his mind. The door closed again and there was some more movement. "Let me see the Daily Prophet." Ruffled paper and a hollow laugh. "The fools."

"Quite so, My Lord. Crabbe is handing them out all over the manor as we speak." So I'm in the Malfoy Manor? Pansy thought. Figures they'd have a room like this.

"How is my mother holding up, Goyle?" His voice was curious, but not concerned.

"She's in the garden, My Lord. She's taking Lucius' death very hard."

"She always was an idiot. When you leave me I want you to command her to return and remain in her room until I have a word with her."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Any news on my dear aunt Bellatrix?"

"They recovered her body in the dungeons, My Lord. I am sorry."

"It is quite a loss. She was excellent at dark magic. Oh well, she probably would've been too much of a bother. Tried to run the whole operation herself, deeming herself worthy just because she was Voldemort's stupid whore."

"Couldn't agree with you more, Sir."

The paper was ruffled again. "I'd like to see Potter tell me he's better then me now."

"Harry will always be better then you, Draco." Pansy opened her eyes, just as surprised as they were to hear her speak. Looking around she saw she was in nothing more then a small, empty room. The floor walls and (surprisingly) ceiling were all stone. However, there were dark stains on the floor of the room, and dark spots splattered on the wall. Shivering, she could only imagine what this room was often used for.

"How lovely of you to finally join us," Malfoy said, walking nearer to her and sliding off his black gloves. His step was surer then it'd ever been, his chin tilted up to a proud level. As his eyes met her, an odd feeling overcame the pit of her stomach and she restrained the feeling to recoil.

"Leave us," he commanded the other man in the room without even turning around. Soon after, the door settled heavily into it's frame and Draco crouched down beside Pansy.

Running his thumb along her jaw line, he replied carelessly, "I hate to break it to you, love, but I really have bested Potter."

"Highly doubtful," she spat as if it were second nature to defend the boy.

"Those fools actually think they won the war. They honestly think our threat no longer exists. But it was I who took their three most treasured people. I captured you, their insider to our world and way of thinking." He stressed every "I" like he was a proud father talking about his son, something Pansy knew he had absolutely no knowledge of. "I killed Snape, the traitorous spy. And I killed their beloved savior, Harry Potter." He smirked as Pansy's eyes widened slightly.

"Unfortunately, Potter had already gotten rid of Voldemort. My father among numerous others is also gone. But alas, it is my advantage, because I am the one in charge now, and I won't fail." He pulled his hand back from her face, but his eyes still greedily scanned her.

Disgusted, Pansy replied, "You are no threat." Unlike most, she wasn't afraid of Draco Malfoy. She'd stopped being afraid a long time ago.

"On the contrary, I am quite a threat. You see, they think they've won. Voldemort's out of the picture and I've supposedly scampered off somewhere, scared. Come the time, they'll never expect it."

Pansy's eyes darted up to the small glass window twelve feel above her at the base of the ceiling and realized that night had fallen again; a whole day had passed.

Capturing Malfoy's eyes, she grinned like Harry often does. "They're still strong, they'll be waiting for something stupid like that."

"In a few years they'll think they're safe. Their world will return to the way it was when they believed Voldemort to be gone, meanwhile I'll be planning. They won't stand a chance." Draco stood slowly. Turning around, he kicked dust up into Pansy's face and she coughed, surprised.

Recovering quickly, she replied firmly, "I don't believe you killed Harry."

Facing her again, he smiled the most genuine smile that would ever leave his lips, a smile a small boy would give when he saw all the Christmas presents under the tree. However, the smile soon faded and all that remained were his words, "Believe it or not, love," said with such a conviction Pansy knew it must be true.

"I'm willing to forgive your stupidity," he added a moment later as an afterthought. "It would be such a waste to kill you. Despite that there are prettier things out there, I'm sure your feistiness pays off in bed."

Her nostrils flared and she quickly spit out in a possessed voice, "I'd rather die."

"I'm not that nice." He threw something on the floor near her feet--sending another cloud of dust towards her--and started towards the door. "Someone will bring you meals, don't expect to see me that often."

Turning to face her, one hand on the doorknob, he smiled knowingly. He knew that she was trapped. He knew that she would eventually have to believe Potter was dead. Most of all, he knew there was nothing else she could do now but let herself be his.

"Welcome to your new home." The door clicked shut in the echo of her mind and then he was gone.

Pansy cautiously bent down to see what he had thrown at her. With trembling hands, she picked up the recognizable Daily Prophet and closed her eyes before glancing at the horrific headline. No matter how much she didn't want to believe it, no matter how much she fought it, the proof was staring her right in the face (after all, the Daily Prophet never lied).

You-Know-Who is Gone, But at What Price?

The Wizarding World Bids Farewell to their Beloved Hero.

She quickly dropped the paper, letting it land on the floor, but her breath caught in her throat all the same as it unfolded to reveal a black and white picture of a casket hovering above a grave marker.

Pansy, tonight you put the stars to shame. A single tear clinging to her eyelash, Pansy Parkinson died.