Foolish Games

Heels belonging to the most posh dragon-hide boots clicked against the marble floor in a peculiar rhythm. The hem of a fancy green cloak swished against the floor. It was raining outside of Hogwarts. The water poured down fiercely, thunder roared and lightening struck. It was a frightening evening.

It was twenty to six, and the Great Hall was already filling with students waiting to eat. A few seventh-years had skipped their meal to study for their N.E.W.T.S in the library. Pansy Parkinson, on the other hand, did not need to study. Pansy Parkinson did not need to skip her meals. Pansy Parkinson did not - and she repeats: did not - have to follow Draco Sodding Malfoy around like a stray dog. She had pride, she had woman power, and she was a Slytherin!

"Lost, Parkinson?" someone asked her, as she headed to the Great Hall for the meal she would not miss just because Draco was studying in the library.

Pansy did not need to turn around to recognize the voice. And since she did know who the voice belonged to, she absolutely refused to even address the owner of said voice. She quickened her pace, eager to lose the person and get to the Great Hall.

Unluckily for her, the male - for he was masculine in all ways - broke into a jog to keep up with her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching out to grab her elbow. He succeeded and turned her around. She looked up, only to stare into his deep blue eyes. "You've never ignored me before," he said.

"Let go of me, Weasley," she ordered, trying to loosen herself from his grip. Pity he was so bloody strong, though. "I have nothing to talk to you of."

"Pansy, stop being silly," Ron spat, as he walked beside her. "After all, you attract more bees with honey than with vinegar or some nonsense like that. You've been avoiding me. You won't return my owls and you won't even talk me."

Pansy stopped walking and stared at her boots. They were a lovely shade of black. "Ronald," she said, for she refused to call him something as common and low class as Ron, "you and I - we're friends. We've been friends for only a year or so, perhaps a bit less."

Ron scoffed. "Pansy, we've bloody kissed!" He saw her flinch. "You can't deny it, you know? We actually kissed. I can give you the exact date and time, if so you wish."

She raised an eyebrow curiously. How incredibly sad, she thought. But, then again, she also knew the exact date and time. "It was just a kiss," she said after a moment of silence.

"I enjoyed it," Ron said with a shrug of his shoulders. "You happen to be a good kisser."

Pansy blushed. Draco had never told her she kissed well. "Thank you," she mumbled. "So do you, I suppose."

Ron grinned one of his mischievous grins. "Let's go to Hogsmeade this weekend," he said. "We'll have fun."

Pansy shook her head. To look into his eyes would be to lose the battle. "I can't," she said quickly. "I'm going with Draco and Blaise. I promised them ages ago."

Ron looked hurt, of course he would be. He still hung onto that hope that they might actually go out.

Pansy touched his arm then pulled back. "It wouldn't work between us," she stated. "We're too different. We believe in too many different things."

A portrait above them blew her nose and cheered Ron on. The rain was pounding even harder onto the ground. Lightening struck and they both jumped. Pansy knew Blaise would be looking for her. She knew that Draco would be upset she hadn't joined him in his studies.

"You don't want things to work between us," accused Ron, his fists were clenched.

Peeves swooped by, throwing a water balloon at the statue beside Pansy, but she didn't move.

"Maybe I don't," she said. The statue waved its sword angrily at the retreating poltergeist. "Maybe," she said, "it just wouldn't work, Ronald. We'd be lying in a bed of lies. We'd be trying to build something that would just collapse."

"I like when you call me Ronald," said Ron, no longer trying to grasp onto reality. "Nearly no one calls me that anymore. At least, the teachers have all give up on it."

"They shouldn't," Pansy replied. "Ronald was your birth name. It demands respect and appreciation when spoken."

"Do you? Respect and appreciate me, I mean," he asked.

"I would believe so," answered Pansy. She pulled the cloak tighter to her; it was getting colder.

"Even if I'm poor?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Being rich or poor isn't always about money, Ronald."

"That's something coming from a Slytherin."

The portrait giggled and left to visit a friend. The wet statue saluted Ron and went back to being still.

"Blaise said that," Pansy said. "He said it to Draco, and Draco laughed." She smiled sadly at Ron.

"Come to Hogsmeade with me?" Ron asked once more.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Someone was coming. Probably a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw on their way to their common room. Dinner had already finished; people would be returning from the Great Hall.

"I can't," was Pansy's simple answer.

Ron's expression turned to stone. He simply nodded, turned around and marched off, his Gryffindor robes trailing behind him. Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin walked by him, laughing about some first-year Gryffindor.

Pansy Parkinson, stomach rumbling, stared at Ron's leaving form with sadness. She had turned him down. For what? A life-style with Draco Malfoy, who was so self-absorbed? A life that might involve giving herself to You-Know-Who for power she didn't want and riches she didn't need? She had been a fool to turn him down. But perhaps being a fool at the moment was the only way to ensure his safety and Potter's.

She would not lie on a bed of lies. She would not bring down the people she cared for. She would remain Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin prefect and be pretty and smart and posh.

Pansy Parkinson would be a woman that would go down in history.