Pansy

Pansy.

Pansy. A beautiful name, actually. And it was hers. She liked it. It was the only part of her she liked. Everything else was wrong. She knows it deep inside, but she doesn't dare admit it. Not to others, not even to herself.

She fears the night and its music and whisper. Because in the night all cats are grey. At night, she can't see the differences between Gryffindor and Slytherin and she fears that the differences will glide together and create a big, grey mass. She fears that the rules her parents and her friends have created will blur and if they do that, then nothing she has ever learned would be true. And what would she have then? Nothing. No safety, nothing. If the differences blur, become one, then she would have nothing to support her. Nothing.

Everybody around her expects something from her, her parents more than any other. She should be the cleverest, the most popular, and the prettiest. She should marry an acceptable, rich, pureblood Slytherin wizard. He should be from a powerful and influential family, and a good alliance for her father. He should do the work and take care of her. She should be the same kind of wife as her mother: the housewife, the obedient wife.

Draco is just the type her parents have always dreamt about. He is rich, pureblooded, and a Slytherin at heart. That is, if he even has one. He is from a powerful and influential family, and he is a great alliance for her father. His family is prestigious, rich, and powerful. He comes from the same kind of family as she, and he has the same thoughts on women as her own family.

But it doesn't feel more right because of that. She doesn't feel anything when they kiss, when he whispers to her, or when he touches her. She is empty inside, empty. But he is the only one she has; the only one she knows. And even though she knows he doesn't love her, she knows he will never leave her. Because he is just as scared of the night as she is. But he must never know she is just as scared as he is; he must never know her secret. Because if he knows it, she must admit it for her self. And if she does that, she will break down. She will loose her support. If she does that, she has to face the truth. But she isn't ready. Not yet. Not ever.

She clings to him at the parties, because if she doesn't have him, then what has she? Nothing. Only the dark and the night and the dreams. The dark, which shows the night. The night, which gives her the dreams. The dreams, which remind her of her old hopes. The hopes she once had, when she was a child; the hopes she had when she was still innocent. The hopes she lost, long ago.

The present haunts her: the life she has, the days that go by, the emptiness, the indifference, and the evilness. The world. And at night the dreams haunt her: the hopes she had as child, the innocence she lost before she knew it, the dreams, the past, and most importantly, her hope.

She was once a little girl, innocent. She played, she laughed, and she had friends. And when she fell and hurt herself, they came to comfort her, to wipe the tears away. They liked her and she liked them.

But the little girl grew, and with her the expectations. And the disappointment. She wasn't the cleverest; she wasn't the prettiest. And the love she felt as a child turned to disappointment. Not even the fact that she was sorted into Slytherin could change her parents' disappointment. She had to push her friends away because they were in the "wrong" house. She wanted to make her parents happy. She wanted them to like her. And as a Slytherin, she couldn't be friends with Gryffindors, no matter how long she had known them.

She knows that, but at night, the little voice in her head asks if she is really sure. And she hates herself for that weakness; that the voice can whisper to her. As for her anger and hate, she simply turns them against others: her old friends. They betrayed me, she says even though she knows it's not true. And new friends enter her life. Friends who think she is funny when she bullies and annoys the Gryffindors, and she learns that the nastier she is, the more the Slytherins like her. And she tries to tell herself that her new friends are just as good as her old ones; that it doesn't matter... But she can't help noticing that her new friends don't come and help her when she falls and hurts herself.

And when the night comes, she can no longer hide the truth. At night, all cats are grey. At night, the differences glide together and break the wall down. At night... At night, the dreams come and the voice there whispers what she doesn't dare admit herself; everything she tries to hide deep inside. And she gets scared. Scared that she will lose all that she has, all that she has ever known.

And she hates herself for it. For hearing the voice and for being scared. She hates everything. Sometimes, even her beautiful name. But most of all, she hates herself.