Forgivable Expectations

Forgivable Expectations
Chapter 2: Ever the Slytherin

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends--The Sorting Hat in Sorcerer's Stone.

"Work saves us from three great evils: boredom, vice and need."--

Voltaire, 'Candide.'

Pansy chewed her lip thoughtfully as she stared at her incomplete canvas. It was going to be a stretch, but she could probably finish her portrait with her remaining paints.

"What do you think we're going to have to do tomorrow in Herbology?" Millicent asked, the question not really directed at anyone in particular.

"I couldn't give a fuck," Raquel said dryly, throwing selected clothes from her closet onto her bedspread.

Millicent gave Raquel a disgruntled look but kept her mouth shut and buried her nose in her Herbology textbook.

Pansy frowned at this. After seven years of verbal beatings, Millicent seemed to have accepted her place beneath the other girls. A compliant attitude like that could be dangerous for her in the future. She would never be promoted through the ranks.

"Is Moon still dating Lisa Turpin?" Blaise asked suddenly, drawing Pansy out of her worries.

"What difference does it make if he has a girlfriend?" Alyssa mused, applying an extra layer of lip-gloss to her already overdone mouth.

Blaise grinned. "It doesn't. It's just good to know who the competition is."

Pansy rolled her eyes. Apparently her best friend had decided to give her boyfriend some of his own medicine. A brilliant plan, that. She wondered if Bromley would even notice.

Shaking her head, Pansy dropped down beside her bed and pulled her art trunk out from underneath it. She rose on her knees and pulled open the top drawer of her bureau to hunt for the keys to the trunk.

"Are you really going to make a move on Moon?" Raquel asked dully, not sounding as if she really cared.

"Maybe," Blaise said mysteriously, glancing through the pile of clothes that Raquel had thrown onto her bed. She held up a red dress. "This dress draws attention to your huge hips," she said flippantly.

Pansy's fingers finally located the set of keys. She pulled them out and dropped back down next to her trunk, putting the selected key into the fourth lock from the right.

Raquel's face showed her indignation. "My hips aren't huge!" she exclaimed shrilly.

"Actually," Blaise continued as if she hadn't heard Raquel. "I'd suggest staying away from every color other than black unless you plan to lose at least ten pounds before tomorrow night."

Pansy snorted. As usual, Blaise had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. She would kill to be shaped like Raquel. Draco liked his girls to have generous curves.

Pansy cursed nature every day for giving her such a narrow shape.

Raquel glared at Pansy, obviously mistaking her snort for agreement. "Well, what are you going to wear tomorrow, Parkinson?" she asked sulkily.

"My school uniform, you twit," she answered evenly, not bothering to look up from her task of selecting the right colors from the huge assortment of paints in her trunk.

"I meant to the party," Raquel said angrily.

Pansy looked up in alarm. "Party? There's a party?"

"Of course," Alyssa said, glancing up from her magazine. "Where have you been?"

"Out of the loop, obviously," Pansy said dryly, standing up.

"Obviously," Blaise said haughtily.

Pansy ignored her. "Well, when is it, then?" she asked resignedly.

"It's tomorrow night after curfew," Alyssa replied, seemingly pleased to be the one to tell her. "Sixth and seventh years only, of course."

Pansy sighed and gathered up her paints, carrying them over to her easel. She really hated the parties that occurred in the Slytherin common room.

"Who's providing the booze?" she asked wryly.

"Malfoy, I think," Alyssa said glibly, picking up her hairbrush.

"Oh," she said disappointedly. It would be him, wouldn't it?

Pansy never asked how Draco managed to come up with the alcohol because she secretly suspected that one of the professors must have a stash hidden away somewhere. Knowing that the person currently grading her homework could very well be the one who one day hit her with an Avada Kedavra didn't exactly do wonders for the morale as it was, so Pansy really didn't need to be thinking of her teachers as real people who had real problems like alcoholism.

For some reason, Pansy's fellow Slytherins didn't seem to have the same problem dealing with it as she did. After failing a test in Transfiguration, Blaise had once made an off-hand comment about hoping to be the one who got to take McGonagall down. Pansy had been forced to excuse herself to be sick in the girls' lavatory.

It was something that she was going to have to work on.

"You don't look too excited," Alyssa observed, watching her in the mirror.

"Why should she be?" Blaise said, smirking. "We all know that Pansy is going to spend the party watching Malfoy suck the tonsils out of some lower year."

Pansy felt her face heat up as she scowled at Blaise. Merlin help her if she wouldn't be right there next to Blaise on the battlefield, but right now she just wanted to take her to the top of the Astronomy Tower and toss her off.

Memo to self: Buy Blaise A Gag.

"At least I know that it won't be you," Pansy said in a low voice.

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "And how do you know that, Parkinson?" she asked quietly.

Pansy suddenly felt a distinct unease crawling up her neck. "You're not his type," she lied, keeping her facial expression blank.

In reality, Blaise was exactly Draco's type, which was why Pansy had made a point of begging him not to ever mess around with her. Well, technically, she had asked him not to sleep with any of her roommates under the guise of it becoming uncomfortable for her, but Blaise had been the obvious threat.

Blaise snorted. "And you are?"

Pansy opened her mouth to retort, but a sudden noise distracted her. She turned her head and froze.

An owl was settled on the grass outside of their window, pecking at the pane urgently.

A tense silence settled over the room. Alyssa and Raquel exchanged pointed looks. Millicent clutched her Herbology book with white knuckles. Pansy held her breath. Blaise looked excited.

"This could be it," she said softly.

Pansy suddenly felt sick. She wasn't ready. Not yet.

It had been a triumphant day when Pansy Parkinson had returned to Hogwarts as a seventh year and had finally been granted a room with a view. Actually, that view consisted of a stretch of water that stretched boringly to the Forbidden Forest, but the rest of the dorms were underground, so it was still a victory. She no longer had to wait for the morning post like all of the lower years in her house.

Unfortunately, just as she had been granted the privilege, it had been spoiled. The arrival of letters these days caused a certain air of trepidation. Her parents rarely sent her anything frivolous, so she could safely assume that any word from them would have something to do with either Voldemort or potential marriage contracts.

She wasn't sure which was more terrifying.

"Do you think it has to do with the attack on the Vestrys?" Millicent whispered, looking horrified.

Everyone exchanged looks, thinking the same thing.

Promotion.

But whose parents got it?

No one moved and the owl continued to flutter outside. Finally, Blaise sighed in frustration. "You're all behaving like utter morons," she declared, moving over to open the window.

Pansy reached out to clutch the edge of her desk for support.

The deaths of the Vestrys, two prominent Ministry officials, had been a blow too close to home for the Wizard community. Mainly because the Vestrys were both in charge of Ministry security. To have the two people who were supposedly most aware of what was going on suddenly show up on the Ministry doorstep with obscene designs carved into their flesh naturally resulted in a widespread shock of disillusionment.

For Slytherin house, the news had something of a different effect. The Death Eaters who had headed the attack were no doubt due some recognition for their success. The Death Eater division in charge of the attack just happened to be the one that included Pansy's father. And not just hers, but also Blaise and Millicent's. Alyssa's father was already in the Inner Circle and had been since before Harry Potter had even been born. Raquel's father was in another division.

This letter could contain the news that any of their fathers had been promoted up into the Inner Circle of Death Eaters. News of this kind would be huge for several reasons. The main one was that having her father in the Inner Circle would mean that her attractiveness for marriage matches would be greatly increased. It would mean that she would finally be eligible to marry into a more esteemed family.

Like the Malfoys.

But a promotion for her father would also mean a thousand other things. It would mean that her father's life ambition would be fulfilled. It would mean that her mother would finally be invited to those exclusive teas that Narcissa Malfoy hosted at Malfoy Manor. It would mean that there would be little doubt as to where Pansy should expect to find herself when the armies finally clashed-right next to Voldemort and across from Dumbledore.

Not that there was any doubt either way.

But the face that Pansy couldn't help but imagine was Professor Snape's. In her dreams he always looked disappointed, and she always woke up feeling guilty for crimes she hadn't even committed, yet.

Another thing that she was going to have to work on.

But if her father didn't get the promotion, it would be an entirely different story. This was basically her last chance at becoming eligible for Draco. It was highly unlikely that there would be enough time to plan another attack worthy enough of a promotion before her graduation, and Draco had told her that Lucius Malfoy was planning on marrying him off almost immediately after he had received his diploma. Her own father had similar plans.

But if not Draco, then who?

A disturbing picture of herself in a white wedding dress, standing next to Gregory Goyle, suddenly flitted across her mind. Pansy shuddered in revulsion.

It seemed to take forever for Blaise to cross the room. She took her time, obviously full of anticipation.

What if Blaise's father had gotten the promotion? Pansy bit her lip. That was simply unacceptable. She would kill her best friend before she so much as blinked at the engagement ring that had once graced Narcissa Malfoy's hand.

Or the letter could be the one that they were all waiting for, whether they admitted it or not. The one that told them that it was time to abandon Hogwarts and join their parents in their service to the Dark Lord. It was looking increasingly likely that the Slytherin seventh years weren't going to make it to graduation day.

When Blaise finally pulled the window open, the owl immediately swooped in and headed straight for Pansy's easel like a bat out of hell.

Panicked, Pansy cried out and swung her arms rapidly, attempting to divert its path. There was no way that bloody bird was going to get talon marks all over her canvas!

Screeching, the bird soared over her head and landed instead on Alyssa's vanity, scattering her make-up onto the floor.

"Little shit!" Alyssa shrieked. She grabbed her wand and pointed it menacingly at the owl.

"Calm your ass down," Raquel said, quickly grabbing the wand from Alyssa. She grinned at Millicent. "I believe that pathetic piece of poultry belongs to your family, doesn't it, Bulstrode? Or is it a rental?" she suggested sweetly.

"It's mine," Millicent said meekly.

Pansy felt all of the tension sweep out of her. The letter wasn't for her. Not yet.

She shook her head and forced her weak legs to stand straight, annoyed with herself for letting a stupid letter send her into near convulsions.

Pansy moved toward her dresser with the intention of getting out her painting shirt.

White as a sheet, Millicent untied the letter from the owl's leg. She cracked the seal and read it hurriedly, looking increasingly nauseous.

"Well, what does it say?" Blaise asked impatiently, hands on her hips.

Millicent raised terrified eyes to her. "It says..."

"What?" Blaise persisted.

Pansy glanced over with interest as she pulled her sweater over her head and slipped her arms into Draco's old button-up shirt. Had Millicent's father gotten the promotion? She had never even considered Bulstrode to be a competitor.

Frowning, Pansy crossed her arms over her chest and considered Millicent silently. The other girl was a good foot taller than Pansy, but she slouched her square shoulders self-consciously. Her heavy jaw may have appeared aggressive to lower years, but she never looked anything but timid around her roommates. Despite repeated threats from Alyssa about cutting it off while she slept, Millicent still insisted on wearing her mousy hair in a sharp braid down her back.

This was her competition?

Pansy finally shook her head, amazed at her own defensiveness. Geez, was she ever the Slytherin. Even if Mr. Bulstrode had gotten it, Lucius Malfoy would still never even consider someone like Millicent for Draco. If Pansy looked like a pug, than Millicent strongly resembled a pit-bull. Plus, she was weak. It was laughable, really.

Right?

Millicent visibly gulped. Everyone's attention was now squared in on her. What was in that letter?

"My parents..."

"What happened?" Raquel asked in a hushed voice. "Did your father get promoted?"

Millicent shook her head.

"Fucking spit it out, Bulstrode!" Alyssa snapped.

"My parents are looking into Durmstrang for a marriage match for me," Millicent whispered.

The anticipation broke and Blaise groaned. "Is that all?"

Pansy sighed in annoyance and began buttoning up Draco's shirt.

Alyssa glared at Millicent. "You made it seem important," she said accusingly.

"It is!" Millicent insisted. "I could end up married to some stranger!"

Raquel laughed derisively. "That's the only way that your parents could ensure you a match, Bulstrode. Be grateful that the poor guy won't get a view of you before the wedding. He won't be able to back out then. Be sure to wear a thick veil."

"Fuck off!" Millicent snapped, her eyes suddenly blazing.

Pansy gaped at Millicent in astonishment. When was the last time that she had stood up for herself?

Raquel looked equally shocked. She put her face directly into Millicent's. "What did you say to me?" she asked in a dangerous voice.

Millicent shrank back, obviously regretting opening her mouth. "I..."

Pansy had the sudden urge to laugh. There might be some hope for Millicent after all.

"Are you deaf?" she asked Raquel amusedly. "She told you to fuck off."

Fighting the urge to grin, Pansy looked over at Blaise and realized that her smirk looked strange. The subtle difference was confusing until it hit her.

Blaise was trying not to smile, too.

Their gazes locked and they shared an understanding grin. For a moment, it felt like before Voldemort had been resurrected and their rivalry had been sparked. When they were still Pansy and Blaise, rather than Parkinson and Zabini.

Then, looking disturbed, Blaise averted her gaze.

The moment ended abruptly.

Pansy felt some sadness. Why did it always have to be a fight?

"Finally growing some claws, Bulstrode?" Blaise asked airily, turning back to Millicent.

Raquel's upper lip curled. "She'd better watch where she scratches in the future."

Millicent picked her Herbology book back up and stared at it with a furious concentration, obviously hoping that Raquel would lose interest and forget her.

Pansy smirked and pulled her long hair into a ponytail. It was time to get to work.

"Will somebody get this bloody owl out of here?" Alyssa snapped suddenly.

The afore-mentioned bird was happily wandering back and forth along Alyssa's vanity, oblivious to the murderous stares being sent its way.

Millicent sighed and went to retrieve her family's bird.

Rolling up her sleeves, Pansy smiled, reveling in the fact that she was wearing one of Draco's old shirts. She lowered her face to her shoulder and attempted to inhale the fabric. Although it had been washed several times since Draco had last worn it, she liked to imagine that his scent was still on it. It felt odd to be wearing something that probably cost more than Weasley's entire house to paint in, but Draco had assured her that the shirt was ridiculously out of date (in other words, it was more than a year old), and Pansy would have no other opportunity to wear his cast-offs.

"Isn't that Malfoy's shirt?"

Startled, Pansy snapped out of her reverie and stared at Blaise, who was giving her a disturbing smile.

Damn. Had she seen?

"Used to be," Pansy said noncommittally, her heart racing.

"Does he know that you have it?" Blaise asked slyly.

Pansy gave her a cold look. God, how pathetic did Blaise think that she was? And why did she recognize Draco's shirt? He had thousands of shirts.

"Draco gave me this shirt to paint in," she said flatly.

Blaise smirked. "I guess smelling his clothes is as close as you're going to get to the real thing."

Pansy felt the familiar defensive monster rise up in her as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. She hated it when Blaise did this. Their moment was now completely forgotten.

The hated routine was reestablished.

"Have you seen Bromley today?" she asked abruptly, turning the tables away from herself as she had a thousand times before.

Blaise glared at her. "What's it to you?"

Pansy shrugged lazily. "I guess that you don't care that he's probably with that girl right now."

Raquel and Alyssa hesitated in their primping to glance over in interest.

Blaise gave them a frightening glare before turning back to Pansy. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Parkinson."

Millicent bit her lip, looking nervously from girl to girl over the rim of her book.

Pansy held up her hands innocently. "Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, it's remarkable that you've managed to keep him interested this long, Zabini."

Blaise's mouth fell open.

Feigning detachment, Pansy began squirting paint onto her palette.

"They do like to stray," Raquel said lightly, holding a slinky top up against herself as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror.

Blaise looked at Raquel in alarm. "What the hell do you know, Briggs?" she snapped.

Pansy smirked. It was always easier when you had allies on your side-even if they were only out for themselves.

Raquel gave Blaise an innocent look over her shoulder. "What?"

"You heard me, Slut!" Blaise yelled. "Have you been messing around with my boyfriend, Briggs?"

Pansy choked on a laugh. That was unexpected.

Raquel looked just as surprised, but she quickly recovered and said, "Are you honestly worried, Zabini? Even with my big hips?"

With that, she dropped the top back on the bed and sauntered out of the room.

Blaise immediately turned on Pansy. "Have fun fantasizing about Malfoy, Parkinson," she spat, going after Raquel.

Pansy pursed her lips. She would see about getting that gag.

"Should be quite a show in the common room," Alyssa said with a grin. She stood and walked to the door. "Coming?"

"Nah."

Alyssa shrugged and disappeared down the staircase after them.

Pansy sighed in relief, glad that they were gone. Now, as long as Millicent stayed quiet, she would be able to put her entire focus into this painting.

She returned to her palette and dragged the globes of white and black paint into the blue to create the right shades.

When she was satisfied, Pansy lifted the brush to the canvas and drew it down along the charcoal contour, creating long streaks for the hair. She wasn't really sure how this was going to come out, but her arm was still moving, so she went with it, creating strand after strand of curly blue hair.

As she worked, Pansy couldn't help but wonder where Draco was. It wouldn't be the first time that Draco had forced his Quidditch teammates to continue working after the sun had already disappeared from the sky. She hoped that he didn't burn himself out. They had a test in Arithmancy the next morning.

Completing the hair proved to be a long and tedious task, but Pansy was happy with the end-result. Long, curly hair spilling over onto the folded arms that the unfinished face was resting on.

By the time that she had moved on to the school uniform, Millicent had already left to go to dinner.

Pansy used short, quick brush strokes, attempting to show the soft texture of the house scarf. She wanted it to look new. A first year's scarf wouldn't be worn and in need of a replacement.

Maybe Draco had finished practice already and was eating dinner with Crabbe and Goyle.

She worked until her entire body ached. Her shoulders were screaming for a break, and her arm felt like it was in danger of falling off, but Pansy had to get this done now or else she might lose the vibe and the picture would become worthless.

She filled in the outline of the small mouth with an indigo combination, being sure that the corners were turned down to show how unhappy she was.

Or maybe Draco had picked up another girl.

Pansy felt her mood darken considerably.

The skin was the lightest pigment. She mixed the rest of her white paint with the remainder of her blue so that the resulting color stood out against the rest without being completely isolated.

Pansy was distracted when the door opened with a loud bang. She looked up as Draco flounced in wearing his usual smug expression and carrying a plate of sandwiches.

"There you are!" he proclaimed. "You missed dinner."

"Not hungry," Pansy said, grinning at him. She was almost ridiculously pleased that he had thought to get her food and wasn't off with somebody else, after all.

"Haven't you finished, yet?" Draco asked, setting the plate down on her desk.

"Not quite," Pansy answered. "I just have to finish the eyes, and then I'll be done."

She grabbed another brush and dipped it into the black paint, dragging it into the white. She mixed them until they formed a familiar gray color.

Draco moved behind her and wrapped his arms around Pansy's waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He stared at the canvas.

Pansy resisted the urge to purr. His cheek was pressed against her neck and his warm breath was tickling her skin. She leaned back into him, snuggling into the embrace.

"What do you think so far?" she asked softly.

Draco gave her an amused look. "Totally and utterly depressing. As usual."

Pansy smirked and continued to work on the eyes. "Thanks, I guess."

Draco placed a soft kiss on her exposed collarbone and murmured, "You look good in my shirt."

Pansy suddenly had trouble breathing. "I know," she joked weakly.

If only everyone could see them when they were like this. They wouldn't be so quick to dismiss and joke about her feelings. Not if they could see the way that he was holding and kissing her now.

"Want to know where I just was?" Draco asked in a sly voice, his breath now tickling her ear.

"No," she said honestly, enjoying the shivers running up her neck.

He pouted. "Well, I'm going to tell you, anyway."

"I would be shocked if you didn't," she said dryly.

She felt him smile against her neck. "Guess who I was with."

Pansy withheld a sigh. Why did Draco always have to make this worse for her?

"I don't want to know about your sexual escapades," she said sourly. His arms around her suddenly felt suffocating. Setting down her palette, Pansy pulled away from him and collapsed into the desk chair.

"Come on. I'll give you a hint," he said, still grinning. "She's in Ravenclaw."

Pansy rubbed her sore shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye. "Brocklehurst, again?" she said dourly, giving in.

Draco shoved Pansy's hand away from her shoulder and took over in massaging her aching muscles. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against him gratefully.

"Nope," he said mysteriously. "Try again."

Pansy groaned appreciatively. "That feels really good, Draco."

He chuckled. "Come on, Pans."

"I don't know whom you've been fooling around with!" she growled in frustration. Why did Draco insist on doing this? How could he go from complimenting and kissing her one second to flippantly describing other girls immediately afterward? It just wasn't right.

"Fine, I'll tell you."

Joy, she thought sarcastically.

"Lisa Turpin."

Pansy frowned. "Isn't that Moon's girlfriend? The prefect?"

Draco smiled wickedly. "Could be."

"Draco!" she cried, giving him an incredulous look. "How could you do that? Do relationships really mean absolutely nothing to you?"

That was her real fear. She knew that Draco didn't want to be in a real relationship right now, but if he genuinely didn't respect the idea of monogamy, then what hope did Pansy have of ever tying him down?

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure that Moon is hardly a saint."

"You don't know that!"

"Geez! Calm down, Pans. It's not like I'm going to marry her or anything. That privilege is still reserved for you," he said with a wink.

"Lucky me," she grumbled, her fears slightly assuaged.

"Just picture it," Draco continued, ignoring her. "After you've produced about seven children or so, and are no longer shaped even moderately like a normal woman should be, I'll buy you your own live-in cabana boy."

"And where will you be while I'm shagging the cabana boy and hiding from your seven brats?" she asked amusedly, temporarily forgetting about Moon and Turpin.

"You mean while you're crocheting booties for Draco Jr. and teaching the underprivileged cabana boy to speak English?" Draco asked innocently.

"Whatever you say," Pansy said with a smirk.

"Well, I will either be getting off with the maid or whining about my cow of a wife to Crabbe and Goyle."

Pansy glared at him. He could really be a jerk sometimes. "Or you'll be desperately searching your father's volumes for a spell to hinder male- pattern baldness," she shot back.

Draco looked horrified. "Malfoys do not go bald!"

Pansy didn't reply. Served the bastard right for bringing up the imaginary maid that Pansy had already killed at least eight times in her dreams.

"I'm serious!" Draco insisted.

She hummed to herself, pleased to have uncovered yet another vanity issue of Draco's. He could be worse than a girl sometimes.

Obviously annoyed, Draco gripped Pansy's chin and pulled it up so that he was staring down into her eyes.

"Malfoys do not go bald," he said, enunciating each word slowly. "Say it with me."

She laughed. "You're being ridiculous."

"Say it," he growled.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Malfoys don't go bald."

"Thank you," Draco said smugly, releasing her chin.

Pansy reached up and ran her fingers through his silver hair. "Sadly, your father has given you everything in the world and perfect hair," she said affectionately.

Draco grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. "You won't be complaining when Father has your own art studio built into Malfoy Manor as a wedding present."

Pansy stared at his lips wistfully. "Too bad there won't ever be a wedding," she said sadly.

"There will be," he said assuredly, bending down to kiss her cheek lightly.

Pansy closed her eyes and pulled Draco closer. "Not unless my father gets this promotion."

"He will, Babe." Draco kissed the edge of her mouth. "He has to. You and I have always said that we'd get married someday. There's no way that I'm going to spend the rest of my life chained to some bimbo that Father fishes out of Beauxbatons."

"But I thought that you liked bimbos," Pansy reminded him unhappily.

Draco laughed and kissed the side of her mouth again. "Of course. But that doesn't mean that I have any intention of marrying one. I have to be careful about who I make a Malfoy."

Pansy smiled at the indirect praise and turned her face up so that Draco could have better access to her mouth. Unfortunately, he had already stood upright again and returned to massaging her shoulders.

Slightly disappointed, Pansy sighed and closed her eyes again, relaxing under Draco's strong hands. Then another thought came to her. She bolted straight up.

"Wait a minute! Isn't Lisa Turpin roommates with Mandy Brocklehurst?"

Draco looked surprised by the conversation shift. "I suppose she would be," he said with a shrug.

"Draco, you slut!" she cried angrily.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"They're roommates!" she yelled, standing up and putting her hands on her hips.

"So?"

"So, they share a room and are probably best friends!"

Draco raised an eyebrow at her and crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm failing to see your point."

Pansy grabbed a pillow from her bed and screamed into it in frustration. "T'es incroyable," she muttered.

"What's up with you?" Draco asked, confused.

"My best friend is scum," she said mournfully.

Draco rolled his eyes at her. "Don't you think that you're being a tad melodramatic?"

"No," she grumbled.

Draco sighed and changed the subject. "I take it that you're too busy for a training session tonight?" he asked, nodding toward her canvas.

Pansy glared at him. If Draco thought that she was going to let him just brush this under the rug, then...

Well, he was right, Pansy realized with a sinking feeling. She always allowed him to get away with it. Just like she allowed him to get away with everything.

But she didn't have to be happy about it.

"Aren't you exhausted from Quidditch practice?" she asked grudgingly.

"I'm not too tired to take you down," he said, smiling.

Pansy wasn't too sure about that. She was just exasperated enough to cause some serious damage to Draco's perfect body. Not in a good way, either.

"I want to finish my painting and show it to Snape. Can we move our session to tomorrow?" she asked, running an exhausted hand over her face.

"No can do," Draco said. "I have stuff to do tomorrow to get ready for the party."

Pansy frowned at him. He was referring to the alcohol, no doubt.

"Don't give me that look!" Draco chastised. "I know that you don't like our parties, but maybe you should try actually having fun for once."

"Oh, but I do have fun," she said sarcastically, dropping onto her bed. "What could be better than getting shit-faced and passing out on the floor with my knickers over my head?"

"That's the spirit," Draco smirked, standing over her. "What about the day after?" he suggested.

"I'll be busy then, too."

Draco raised a dubious eyebrow at her. "Doing what?"

"I'll think of something," she muttered.

"Day after next, then," Draco said smoothly, ignoring her groan. He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth, before walking toward the door and grabbing a sandwich from the plate as he went. "Gotta go, Babe."

"Where are you going?" she asked, feeling pathetic for needing to know.

"I have a date. Je te verrai plus tard."

"Bye," she said glumly.

Draco winked at her and closed the door on his way out.

Pansy watched him go with a sigh. This romantic attachment was definitely proving unhealthy for her.

"Pourquoi suis-je amoureuse d'un salaud?" she asked her ceiling.

When the ceiling declined to answer, Pansy stood up and walked over to her desk. She picked up her special quill and wrote:

Memo to self: Keep Resolution to Avoid Physical Contact with Draco Malfoy.

It was proving harder than she had thought. The more she avoided Draco's touch, the more affectionate he seemed to become. Sadly, Pansy couldn't deny that this pleased her.

But it was definitely bad for her.

Very bad.

Shaking her head sadly, Pansy reached for her memo box, which was sitting on her desk. She whispered the password over it and then folded the parchment in half. She stuffed it inside and then closed the memo box and placed it back on her desk.

Pansy picked up her palette and frowned. The neglected paints had become hard and worthless. She squirted some fresh black and white onto the palette and mixed them into her favorite gray color. She tossed the empty bottles into the wastebasket with a sigh. Pansy hoped that her parents wouldn't dally with those new paints that she'd requested.

Finishing the portrait actually took up another hour, since Pansy couldn't seem to be able to stop herself from doing touch-ups here and there. When she was finally done, she took a step back and admired her work. Pansy grinned in satisfaction. It would do.

Pansy grabbed her wand and said, "Siccus velociter." The canvas was instantly dry. She said, "Feo tarsus," over her brush and palette. The scattered paint shimmered for a moment before completely disappearing, leaving the brush and palette clean. She placed them back in her art trunk.

Pansy turned back to her completed canvas. She quickly decided not to perform the spell that would give life to her creation. Professor Snape never used it and there was no one whom she admired more. Well, that and she had no intention of listening to the endless racket that all of her paintings would combine to form if given the chance to speak.

She hoped that Snape was in his chambers.

Excited, Pansy picked up her portrait and exited the bedroom. She hurried down the dark staircase and stepped into the dimly lit common room. A few people looked up as she passed.

"We were wondering if you'd died up there," Theodore Nott, Alyssa's twin brother, drawled, eyeing Pansy as he always did.

She ignored him and left the Slytherin common room. Pansy waited until the stone door had become concealed once again before she sprinted up the passageway. Her breathing turned to gasps as she attempted to jog up the endless staircase, lugging her large portrait. She had just reached the top, when-

Oompf!

Pansy collided with something and was abruptly knocked back against the wall. Her portrait slipped from her fingers as her head and elbow banged painfully against the stone. Blinking in confusion, Pansy looked up into the eyes of a very pissed off girl.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" the girl shrieked, brushing her robes off.

Pansy felt a wave of anger rush over her. She rubbed her sore elbow and glared her. "You knocked into me!"

The girl stepped forward into the dim light cast from a green lantern hanging on a chain, reminiscent of the ones hanging in the Slytherin common room. Pansy's eyes narrowed.

Lisa Turpin.

Draco's whore.

"What the hell do you think that you're doing down here, Turpin?" she spat resentfully.

"I'm a prefect, Parkinson," Turpin said angrily. "So I can go anywhere I please."

"Is there a reason why you're in the dungeons?" Pansy repeated in the same resentful tone, pointedly ignoring the threat. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that she herself had once been a prefect.

Turpin flushed and looked suspiciously from side to side. "That's none of your business!" she snapped.

Pansy scowled at her. "Draco isn't down here," she said stonily, taking no pleasure from the guilty shock on Turpin's face.

"I-- I don't what you're--" Turpin sputtered, her blush visible even in the dim lighting.

"Whatever," Pansy grumbled, bending down to pick up her fallen portrait. She inspected it for damages. There were none.

She turned to leave, but Turpin's hand shot out and stopped her. Pansy jerked away immediately, giving Turpin a look that clearly said that if she touched her again there would be dire consequences.

Turpin looked quite shocked at her own action. She blinked incredulously at Pansy for a moment, and then her shoulders slumped resignedly. "Look, do you know where he is?" she asked somberly.

Pansy was surprised at the admission, but she hid it behind a glare. "I thought that you weren't looking for him," she said sarcastically.

Turpin flinched. "You know that I am," she said defensively, looking down at her hands.

Pansy's jaw clenched and she turned and began walking away. "He's not down here," she called stiffly over her shoulder.

"Wait!" Turpin cried.

Pansy hesitated and gave her an irritated look. "What?" she snapped.

"You're his best friend, aren't you?" Turpin asked, sounding almost desperate.

Unfortunately. "So?"

Turpin shrugged her shoulders self-consciously. "Well, you must know where he is."

"I don't," Pansy said shortly. She turned and continued down the passageway.

Pansy almost screamed in frustration when Turpin hurried to walk alongside her. Why wouldn't the idiot girl get the hell away from her?

"Look, I really need to talk to him," Turpin continued pitifully. "It's important."

Pansy growled and sprung around to face her. "Why don't you check with Brocklehurst?" she snapped before she could stop herself.

"What?"

Pansy mentally slapped her own forehead. Whoops.

"Why would he be with Mandy?" Turpin asked, her brow knitted in confusion.

Pansy swallowed. "He-- Well-- Look, I don't know-- Just-- He wouldn't be, okay?" she stammered, avoiding Turpin's eyes.

Turpin regarded Pansy suspiciously, albeit still confused. "Then why would you say that?"

"Because I have problems," Pansy muttered to herself.

"What?" Turpin asked.

Pansy stared at her, debating internally. A rather loud part of her mind was telling her that she should tell Turpin exactly what Draco thought of her-- that she was nothing more than a random lay-- and that he had used her best friend in a similar manner just yesterday. This girl had been intimate with her Draco just hours ago, been held in the embrace that Pansy desperately yearned for, and did all of the things that Draco refused to do with her. Why should she feel sorry for her?

But she did. Staring at Turpin, Pansy could plainly see herself at her most pathetic. She couldn't help it, and she sure as hell didn't like it, but it was there.

Damn.

Sighing, Pansy said quietly, "Why don't you go find your boyfriend? He's probably looking for you."

Turpin's eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in defensive fury. "Jacob is none of your business," she said, angry once again.

And Draco is none of yours.

Pansy struggled to remain patient. "No, but this can't be good for your relationship. If you aren't careful, somebody else is going to come along and snatch him up, and I promise you that Draco isn't going to be there to fall back on," she said slowly, thinking of Blaise and the interest that she had expressed earlier in Moon.

Turpin's lower lip began to tremble, although whether it was because she was holding back the urge to cry or the urge to punch Pansy in the face, she didn't know.

"Somebody like you?" Turpin said in a low, taunting voice.

Well, that settled that question. "No!" Pansy denied automatically. Merlin, how dense was she?

"Look, Parkinson," Turpin said heatedly. "If this is just some tactic to keep me away from Draco--"

"It's not!" she insisted, her cheeks burning uncomfortably at the accusation.

"Because if it is, that's just pathetic," Turpin continued. "Everyone knows that you carry a torch for him, but you can't seriously believe that keeping other girls away is going to win him."

Okay, Pansy's sympathy only went so far. Her anger and frustration mounted to an almost blinding level. "You want to talk about pathetic, Turpin?" she asked dangerously. "How about a pathetic Ravenclaw who gives it up to the first bad boy that comes along to challenge her boring little relationship and then follows said bad boy around like a lost, pathetic puppy even when it's ridiculously obvious that he was just using her and her best friend for sex?"

Turpin gaped at her, crossing her arms in a defensive self-hug. For a second, it looked as if she were actually going to cry. "You're a liar," she whimpered, taking a step back.

Yes, she was in most cases. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of them. Pansy instantly felt bad. For crying out loud! Why couldn't she learn to control herself? What was the matter with her? "I shouldn't have said that," she said carefully. "But you shouldn't--"

"Shut up!" Turpin screamed.

Pansy flinched as her voice echoed loudly around them.

Turpin took another step away from her. "He-- He wouldn't do that." she mumbled, seemingly to herself.

Pansy eyed her warily. She took in the other girl's distressed state, and-- damn it all -- Pansy felt guilty. She wondered if she should go against her instincts and lie.

"Draco cares about me," Turpin insisted, eyes focused on some far off spot as she hugged herself.

Yes, Pansy decided. Lying would be the decent thing to do. "I'm sure Draco didn't mean--"

Turpin abruptly refocused on Pansy and pointed an accusing finger at her. "I'm going to tell Draco about what you said about him."

Pansy stared at her in disbelief. Was she joking? "Look, I didn't--"

Turpin shook her head rapidly. "And then we'll see how he feels about you when he finds out that you're trying to scare girls away from him."

"Will you just shut up and listen to me?" Pansy cried in exasperation.

"I'm not listening to anymore of your lies!" Turpin yelled. She turned around and bolted back the way she had come, disappearing from view.

"Turpin!" Pansy called urgently. "Hold on a minute!"

Silence.

Pansy groaned and slumped back against the wall, clutching the painting tightly against her. She gave a ragged sigh and squeezed her eyes shut. It seemed that Blaise wasn't the only one in need of a gag.

"Garce," she muttered to herself, feeling a heavy dose of self-loathing. Sometimes Pansy really hated herself.

But, damn it. Turpin didn't even give her a chance to lie! And if this was anyone's fault, well, then it was Draco's.

Draco.

Pansy felt a mixture of different, but equally intense, feelings rush over her at the thought of him. The constant, yet helpless ache inside of her deepened. He must have been really amazing if Turpin was already down there in the dungeons seeking him out. Inevitable mental pictures flooded her mind and the pain worsened.

But anger quickly rushed in to replace the sadness. It wasn't fair. Why did Draco have to seek out stupid girls like Turpin, when he already had Pansy, who was ready and more than willing? Was he really so blind? Or was he really just a selfish prick?

She was leaning toward the latter at the moment. Turpin wasn't the first girl to come crying to her, wanting to know why Draco had been ignoring them. He had to know what he was doing to these girls!

To Pansy.

Why was she even his friend? Why didn't she just tell him to bugger off and leave her alone? Why did she let him constantly get away with treating people like this? He was always putting her in this position and she hated it! Why not just cut her losses and move on?

Because you can't stay away, her mind reminded her.

"Merde," she whispered, rubbing her eyes. A headache was definitely coming on.

Pansy suddenly realized just how pathetic she was, standing in a dark passageway, moping over Draco Malfoy, the notorious slut, when he was probably getting off at that very moment with someone else.

Gritting her teeth in resolve, Pansy forced all thoughts of Draco from her mind and shoved herself away from the wall. No longer excited, she trudged the rest of the way to Snape's chambers.

Coming upon the familiar ornate doorway, Pansy raised her free hand and knocked lightly. When the door didn't open immediately, she knocked harder.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," muttered a voice from within.

Pansy stared at her feet as she waited, realizing that her shoes were in definite need of some shiner. She would have to corner a house elf about that.

The door suddenly cracked open far enough for Professor Snape's scowl to become visible.

"What do you-- Oh, Miss Parkinson," he said, his voice lightening considerably when he realized who it was. "What can I do for you?"

Pansy held up her painting, attempting a grin. "I finished," she said sheepishly.

Snape opened the door the rest of the way and stepped aside. "Well, then by all means, do come in."

Pansy hurried past him into the room and immediately went over to the empty easel and placed her painting onto it. If she had ever needed some praise, it was now. She turned to Snape expectantly.

"Well?" she demanded.

Snape chuckled and said, "At least give me a moment to look it over. I believe that there is some butterbeer in my fridge if you want to help yourself."

Pansy would have much preferred to closely examine Snape's face as he evaluated her work, but she obediently walked over to his cupboard and pulled out two glasses. She went to his fridge and pulled out a jug of butterbeer.

But as she was closing it back up, Pansy had a sudden thought.

Hesitating, she shot a furtive glance at Snape. He was solely focused on the painting.

Biting her lip, she bent over and did a quick search of the fridge, looking for any sign of alcohol. There was a bottle of what appeared to be sherry and something that definitely resembled a shrunken head, but other than that, nothing.

Pansy sighed in relief and closed the fridge door.

"An interesting idea to do the entire piece in shades of blue," Snape said thoughtfully. "Discounting the eyes and tears, of course."

Pansy carried the glasses of butterbeer over and handed one of them to him. "Interesting as in brilliant?" she suggested hopefully.

Snape gave her a tolerant eyebrow quirk, but he turned back to the canvas without answering.

"I didn't want her to come from any particular house," Pansy explained nervously. "And I thought that keeping everything in blue would make the piece universal."

"Hmn. Well, she's definitely not a Slytherin," Snape mused.

"Definitely not," Pansy agreed. A Slytherin would never be caught doing something as weak as crying. Not if they could help it.

When Snape didn't elaborate, Pansy began to shift her feet impatiently. "Well?" she prompted. "What do you think?"

Snape held his hand up to signal for silence, his eyes never leaving the painting.

Frustrated, Pansy plopped down in the large emerald armchair and propped her chin up on her knuckle. Her preferred reaction would have been for Snape to take one look at her piece and cry, "Remarkable!"

But, naturally, he never did that.

Memo to self: Get New Mentor.

She had to smirk at the idea of finding someone more qualified than Snape as an art advisor.

Pansy took a moment to admire her potions professor. He was out of his nasty vampirish robes and wearing an appealing black turtleneck with flattering black slacks. She highly doubted that anyone else would share her opinion, but Pansy strongly believed that Snape had a very appealing bum when he wasn't hiding it from the general population. Maybe other girls would see what she saw if he would freaking wash that hair and stop hiding that marvelous ass--

"Please stop ogling me, Miss Parkinson. It's rather distracting."

Pansy choked on her butterbeer. Oops. Blushing, she gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

Snape shook his head and returned to the painting.

Pansy groaned inwardly in shame. What would any of her roommates say if they knew that she had a tiny crush on Hogwarts' closest thing to a dementor? Well, Blaise would probably agree with her, and then she would seduce Snape just to prove to Pansy that she could. Evil wench.

"I presume that you were distressed when you started this?"

Pansy looked up from swirling her drink in alarm. "What?"

Snape indicated to the silver tears on the blue cheeks. "Your subject is obviously in pain."

"That doesn't mean anything," she said uncomfortably. "It's just a picture."

"You don't paint a picture with this amount of depth without feeling a connection with your subject."

"Maybe I do," Pansy said curtly.

Snape looked skeptical. "You just woke up one morning and decided to paint a sobbing first year in shades of melancholy blue?"

"I like blue," she said defensively, giving him a disgruntled look.

Snape smirked. "I take it Mr. Malfoy is behaving like himself again," he said casually.

Pansy's jaw dropped. "Wha..."

"I wonder if Draco realizes that all of your subjects have his eyes," Snape observed offhandedly.

Startled, Pansy just stared at him. How did he know?

Snape chuckled to himself and took a drink of his butterbeer.

Pansy glared at him. She was getting increasingly sick of hearing Draco's name, and sometimes Snape was almost frighteningly perceptive.

"So, what do you think?" she asked pointedly, steering the conversation back to where she wanted it.

He gave her a rare smile that lightened Pansy's mood considerably. She couldn't help but feel special knowing that she was one of the few who got to see him smile. Well, smiling in a way that didn't strike fear into the innocent and hint at terrible things, anyway.

"Well, it's an exceptional piece," Snape said finally, becoming serious again.

Pansy grinned. You couldn't get much better praise than that from him. "I have your approval, then?"

Snape grunted.

"I'll take that as a yes," Pansy said under her breath.

Snape finished off his drink and put it in the sink. "Would you care to see my latest piece?"

"Please," Pansy said excitedly.

Snape disappeared into his bedroom while Pansy put her painting on the sofa to make room for his on the easel. He reappeared moments later.

Pansy stared at the canvas, immediately full of awe and inadequacy. "It's beautiful," she breathed. Snape had done the Battle of Nema, a famous mêlée between two groups of Veela.

Snape smirked. "Glad you think so."

She continued to stare at it, taking in the meticulous details. Snape's skills never ceased to amaze her. The startled look on one of the Veela's face as another one bore down on her was disturbingly life-like.

"How do you do it?" she asked softly.

Snape chuckled, again. "Years of careful instruction and training, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy had to wonder when he had found the time. She knew that he had joined the Death Eaters immediately after graduation from Hogwarts, but after that her knowledge of him waned thin. Her parents refused to talk about him, and Draco had never volunteered any information, supposing that Lucius Malfoy had ever told him anything. Obviously something big must have happened for him to be working at Hogwarts under Dumbledore, but hell if she knew what.

"Professor Snape?" she asked abruptly. He had been a Slytherin once. He had to know what was going on right under his nose in his former house. He knew Pansy's parents. Hell, he probably knew all of their parents. So he would also know about the marriage contracts floating around and the promotion that was up in the air. Maybe he could.

"Yes?"

Pansy looked up into his curious gaze and faltered. Who was she kidding? If Snape knew, then he had to disapprove. For whatever reason, he had gotten out and it didn't appear that he had any intention of getting back in. Of course, there really wouldn't be much point to that since the Dark Lord would probably kill him if he even tried. Traitors and all that.

"What is it?" Snape repeated.

"Err-- nothing," she said quickly. This was too dangerous a time to go shooting her mouth off. Worst-case scenario would be the professor immediately hauling her off to Dumbledore with her confession and then a life sentence in Azkaban.

Snape frowned slightly in confusion, but he didn't press her.

Pansy realized with a sinking feeling that she would probably never be able to ask him what she wanted to. It was a real shame since it would have been nice to hear some advice from the person she admired most. And who better to give her advice than a former Death Eater?

"Isn't it past curfew?" Snape asked suddenly, glancing at his watch.

She stared at him wistfully for a moment before going to retrieve her painting. Sometimes life really sucked.

*******************************

The next day, the Slytherin-Gryffindor Herbology class found themselves standing at the entrance to the school gardens.

Normally, Pansy would have relished the chance to spend the morning in the gardens, but she had woken up in a bad mood and Draco was doing nothing to improve her disposition.

"Oh, come on, Pansy. It's funny."

The bastard actually found the whole Turpin fiasco to be hilarious.

She glared at him. "I cannot believe you."

"You keep saying that," Draco said, sounding bored.

"You weren't there! You didn't hear the things that--"

Draco abruptly clamped his hand over her mouth. "Why are you making such a big deal over this? You never gave a damn about Turpin before."

Pansy smacked his hand away. "Do you really not care about anybody but yourself? That poor girl nearly had a nervous breakdown in front of me! And it was your fault, you complete arse."

Draco gave Pansy a look. "She knew what she was doing."

"So did you."

"This conversation is beginning to annoy me," Draco said testily.

"Yeah, well, viens-en à bout," she grumbled, folding her arms.

"All right, class," Professor Sprout announced. "Either you or your partner should have brought a pot from the greenhouse. Now, everybody follow me."

The students all trudged after her into the gardens. She led them into the center, where a huge fountain was bubbling contentedly. She hopped up on the edge so that she was high above everyone else.

"Can you all hear me? Yes? All right, then. Your assignment today is to locate and pot a temula. You'll all be raising them over the next few weeks."

Confused, Pansy turned to Blaise. "What the heck is a temula?"

Blaise opened her mouth to answer, but Professor Sprout was talking again.

"Can anyone tell me what purposes fully-grown temulas can serve?"

Granger's hand immediately shot up, but Blaise didn't bother waiting to be called on. "When mixed with the proper ingredients, temula sap can cure severe burns caused by both curses themselves as well as curse backfires." She gave Granger a smug look.

"That's correct, Ms. Zabini," Professor Sprout said. "The soil here is exceptional for temulas, which is why the Magical Health Organization has asked the Headmaster to have you harvest the plants here for them."

"The MHO? Isn't that the new Ministry branch?" Theodore Nott asked suspiciously.

"Yes, it is," Sprout said evenly, looking slightly tense. "The MHO was created as an extension of St. Mungo's. They're in charge of aiding the victims of these dark times. They also work with manufacturers to create the healing products that the aurors are required to carry around with them while they are on duty."

The Slytherins all exchanged looks. Almost as if following an instinct, they all drew closer together. Since they were already lurking at the back of the group anyway, Pansy hoped nobody would take any notice of this.

"Did you hear that?" Theodore said in a low voice. "Aurors!"

"They're using us to build up their supplies," Draco said under his breath so that only they could hear him. The scowl on his face showed that he was fuming inwardly.

"Is this some kind of loyalty test?" Alyssa whispered.

"Of course not," Blaise answered quietly, keeping her eyes on the professor. "They already know where our loyalties lie. This is somebody's idea of a joke. Having us contribute to the antidotes that are probably going to override our own curses."

Pansy looked around nervously. This was not the place to discuss this.

"Should we do the assignment?" Crabbe asked, looking at Draco for guidance.

"We have to," Goyle answered for him. "Don't we?"

"Well, I'm not doing it," Theodore murmured furiously. "They can make their own fucking antidotes. Not like it's going to help them, anyway."

"Brilliant," Draco snapped. "Then they'll really know whose side you're on!"

"They already know!" he challenged.

"No, they suspect. That's a completely different thing."

Pansy couldn't take this anymore. Somebody was going to overhear them. Or Sprout was going to realize that they weren't listening to her anymore.

"You're all being bloody paranoid," she snapped suddenly, causing them to all to look at her. "They're just plants for crissakes!"

"You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you," Draco muttered. There were murmurs of agreement from everyone except Millicent, who was remaining quiet.

"They aren't out to get us," she contested. "It's the other way around." As soon as she'd said it, Pansy began to feel really uneasy. This was getting out of hand. It was one thing to know that you were going to be on the enemy's side in a year or two, but the constant suspicion in the place where they all slept was too much.

"Like hell they aren't," Raquel growled. "They know exactly what we're all thinking."

Pansy gave her an irritated look. "Maybe they wouldn't know if you would stop being so freaking obvious."

"I'm not--"

"It doesn't matter how you act," Theodore interjected. "Even if we acted like the perfect little Gryffindors, they'd still treat us like the enemy."

Because they were the enemy. Pansy frowned and whispered angrily, "Would you all just shut up already? You're being ridiculous and I'm going to prove it."

Her hand shot up before she could even think about it.

"Yes, Ms. Parkinson?" Professor Sprout asked, obviously annoyed at being interrupted during her lecture.

"Are we the only class that's gathering temulas?" Pansy asked.

A few of the Gryffindors turned around to give her confused looks.

Professor Sprout's mouth became a thin line, almost seeming disapproving, before she answered, "Yes. I believe that this class should collect enough temulas today to satisfy the MHO."

Pansy felt a sinking feeling. "Oh."

Blaise waited until Sprout had gone back to her lecture before snarling, "That's such utter bull-shit. If the MHO really needed them so badly then they would want to get as many as possible. If they aren't singling us out, then why not have the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class do it?"

"You said yourself that our help wouldn't do them any good, anyway," Pansy said dejectedly. "So what difference does it make?"

"All right! Get together with your partners and find those temulas!" Professor Sprout announced, interrupting their conversation.

Theodore quickly raised his hand. "Professor?"

"What is it, Nott?" she asked.

"Since there are an uneven amount of students, can I be in Pansy's group?" he asked hopefully.

Pansy gave him an annoyed look.

Sprout rolled her eyes. "You've already been assigned to work with Mr. Goyle and Ms. Patil."

"But-"

"I said no, Mr. Nott!"

Grinning cockily, Theodore shrugged at Pansy as if to say that there was nothing that he could do, before grabbing the shovel from Goyle and strutting over to Patil.

Pansy shook her head in disgust. The nerve of some guys.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Sprout demanded of the class. "Get together with your partners!"

Exchanging final looks, the Slytherins began to disperse and join with their partners until Pansy and Draco were the only ones left.

Pansy looked over at Thomas, wondering if he had any intention of coming over to join her. He was standing with Finnigan and Brown and they were all laughing about something.

She noticed that Draco was looking over there, too, with a calculating look on his face.

"All right. What are you thinking?" she asked apprehensively.

Draco smirked. "Just thinking that being paired up with Finnigan might not be such a bad thing after all."

Pansy was confused at first, until she realized that Draco was actually looking at Brown and not at Finnigan.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she breathed. Couldn't the guy go two seconds without thinking about sex?

"What?" he asked innocently, finally turning his gaze back to her.

"You've probably already destroyed one relationship this week. Why not leave Finnigan and Brown alone?"

"I'm failing to understand why you've suddenly become so protective of the people in our rival houses," Draco said amusedly.

Pansy decided to ignore that. "Draco, for once in your life, ne soit pas une salope."

Draco laughed. "You should have more respect for your future husband."

Should, but don't, she thought silently.

"Oh, look," Draco said airily. "A mudblood is heading this way."

Pansy turned and saw Thomas walking toward them. She couldn't help but notice that he walked with a certain confidence that differed from Draco's. Maybe it was the lack of arrogance.

Thomas stopped in front of her and gave Pansy a bright smile. "Hi," he said in a friendly voice. "Um, I guess we're partners."

Draco snorted rudely.

"I guess so," she agreed, giving Draco a warning look.

"Right," Thomas said, eyeing Draco uncertainly.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Are you going to leave Finnigan with all of the work?" Pansy finally asked Draco, hoping that he'd take a hint.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her and then looked directly at Thomas, although he was speaking to Pansy. "Amuse-toi bien avec ta Sang-de-bourbe," he said flippantly.

Thomas frowned. He may not have understood French, but it was obvious that he knew that he was being insulted.

Pansy flinched. Not exactly the way that she wanted to start off a partnership. She was glad that Thomas didn't know that Sang de bourbe was French for Mudblood.

Draco turned and sauntered off, not even bothering to wait for Finnigan to follow him.

Pansy mentally kicked Draco in his pretty arse before refocusing on Thomas. "Sorry about that," she said contritely.

"Don't worry about it," Thomas grumbled, glaring after Draco.

"Um, I hope that you were listening, because I can't say that I was," she said awkwardly.

Thomas returned his gaze to her and the edge of his mouth curved upward slightly. "Yeah, I noticed."

Pansy had been staring at his full mouth, fascinated that someone could have lips like that, but her eyes snapped back up at his comment. Her eyes narrowed. The Gryffindors had noticed. She was going to kill her housemates for their indiscretion. Draco at least should know better.

Thomas appeared confused by her facial expression. "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing," she answered automatically. "We should get started."

Pansy immediately headed in the direction of her favorite part of the gardens, Thomas falling into step beside her. As soon as she stepped onto the familiar pathway, she felt her tension abate. The trees were blooming and heavy along this trail, providing shade and a sense of protection. Not to mention a certain aesthetic value.

"I love coming out here."

Pansy looked at Thomas in surprise. "You do? What for?"

Thomas laughed lightly. "For the same reason that you do. To draw."

Perplexed, she stopped walking and stared at him. "How do you know that I draw?" she asked, confused.

"I've seen you out here," he said simply.

Pansy tried to search her mind for any memory of ever seeing him out there, but she came up blank. "I've never seen you," she said plainly.

He shrugged. "I didn't want to bother you. You always looked so comfortable and. Well, private."

"So, you've been watching me?" she asked, surprised. Rather than feeling violated, Pansy was somewhat flattered that anyone would notice anything about her. She mostly felt invisible outside of the Slytherin common room.

Thomas gave her a mischievous grin. "I haven't been stalking you or anything."

"I know that," she said quickly, hoping that he couldn't tell that she was slightly disappointed to hear that.

"I know you know that," he said, grinning wider at the obvious blush creeping up her neck.

Pansy eyed him warily. She wasn't sure why she was getting so flustered, but the easy teasing in his eyes wasn't helping. "You said that you draw, too?" she asked uneasily, hoping to steer him back to where she was comfortable.

Thomas nodded and patted the bag hanging at his side affectionately. "I take a notebook with me wherever I go."

"Can I see?" Pansy asked hopefully. It wasn't often that she came across someone with similar interests. She had always known that there must be several other students at Hogwarts who enjoyed art, but none of them spoke to her.

"If you like," he said, actually looking shy as he pulled out the notebook and handed it to her.

Pansy took the offered notebook and opened it with an eager curiosity. The first thing she noticed was that none of Dean's drawings moved either.

She had been expecting to see amateur caricature cartoons sketched randomly over the parchment, but what Pansy actually saw caused her eyes to widen.

It was Professor Sprout. There was no question about it. The picture was so good that it almost resembled a photograph. He had drawn her wearing those ridiculous earmuffs that they had to wear during second year and in her hand was a large mandrake.

"I think that's how I'll always picture her," Thomas said with a nervous laugh as he watched Pansy's face apprehensively.

"What did you use to do this?" she asked curiously, tracing the creases in Sprout's shabby robe with her finger. It definitely wasn't charcoal, but when Pansy lifted her finger some of the color had come off onto her skin just like with charcoal.

"Colored pencils."

Pansy frowned. She had never heard of them.

She turned the page to the next drawing. Professor McGonagall's stern face stared up at her. It was so lifelike that Pansy involuntarily shuddered, remembering that essay that she had yet to start for that class.

"These are amazing," she gushed delightedly.

Thomas smiled at the praise, looking relieved. "Well, I don't know about that," he said modestly.

Pansy flipped through the pages excitedly. Recurring themes with Thomas' work seemed to be their teachers and random objects that had obviously caught his eye. There was an exceptional sketch of somebody's wand lying across a desk.

"You've had training," she observed.

"Not really. I've always liked doing my own thing. My mum and step-dad took me to Italy this past summer, and I spent the entire time in the museums copying the paintings."

Pansy was instantly jealous, both of the trip and of his obviously natural talent. She'd had an assortment of different art instructors since she was eight years old, and it had taken all of them combined to get her skills to where they were, and she was still nowhere near Professor Snape.

"I've always wanted to see the originals in Italy," she admitted, not looking up from the notebook.

"You have?" Thomas asked, obviously surprised.

Pansy nodded.

"But... Well, you do know that they were done by... Uh..." he said uncomfortably, suddenly looking anywhere but at her.

Baffled, she just looked at him.

"Never mind," he said quickly.

Pansy had just decided that Thomas was a decidedly odd boy. Shaking her head, she said, "I heard that Italy is beautiful this time of year."

"Oh, it is," Thomas confirmed eagerly, immediately looking comfortable again. "It was almost like coming home." His expression became dreamy as he looked back into his own memories.

Pansy glanced up at him through her lashes discreetly, intrigued by the wistful expression on Thomas' smooth face. Her hand suddenly began to itch with the urge to copy it onto a piece of parchment, and later onto a canvas. There was something about him.

Thomas caught her staring, and Pansy quickly dropped her eyes back to the notebook in her hands as if she had been caught doing something that she shouldn't. Color tinted her cheeks.

"This one's different from the others," she observed interestedly. The picture in front of her was of some girl who Pansy didn't know. She was bent over a piece of parchment, a frown on her face. There was nothing that immediately stood out as extraordinary about it at first glance, but the longer she stared at it, the more seemed to jump out at her. There was something wrong with her. The picture was dark.

"Which one?" Thomas asked, leaning over her to see the drawing.

Pansy stiffened at the close proximity. He was so close that his arm was almost pressing into her.

"Uh, it doesn't look like the others. Pictures, I mean," she stuttered, wanting to move away, but afraid of appearing rude.

"Oh, yeah," Thomas said, smiling affectionately down at the sketch. "It looks different because I didn't draw this. My friend Terry did."

Pansy frowned. "Why was he drawing in your notebook?"

Thomas shrugged. "He was out of parchment, so I let him use mine."

"He's good, too," she said quietly. "Different from you, but still good."

"You should see his room," Thomas said amusedly. "Pictures everywhere. Drives his roommates crazy."

The space between them suddenly seemed to shrink as Thomas stared down at her, making Pansy feel small. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she finally moved away from him.

Something on Thomas' face suggested disappointment, but he smiled again, and the look was gone. "Any chance that you brought your notebook?" he asked.

"I don't have one," she said quickly.

Thomas frowned. "But I've seen you in the groves--"

"I meant that I don't keep a notebook," she clarified. "I only sketch on parchment to get an idea of what I'm going to paint later. I just throw away the sketches."

"You paint?" he asked, sounding shocked.

"Yes," she said, frowning at his tone. Why was it so surprising?

Thomas suddenly gave her a dazzling grin that sent a surprising, warm shiver down Pansy's back. "I didn't know that."

"Why would you?" she asked, annoyed by her own reaction to him.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't."

"All right, then," she muttered, turning another page of the seemingly endless notebook.

Thomas was silent for a moment before suddenly blurting out, "Would you be interested in joining an art club?"

Surprised, Pansy stared at him. Where did that come from? "What?"

"Terry and I know of a few other kids who are into this stuff, too, and we've been trying to round them up to start a club," he explained, watching her face closely.

"A club?" Pansy said dubiously, frowning. "I don't think so."

Thomas looked disappointed again. "Oh. Well, why not?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "I just--"

"It wouldn't just be a bunch of kids slacking off and occasionally doodling to pass the time," Thomas said hurriedly. "You saw Terry's drawing. It would only be a few of us, and we're all serious about our art."

Pansy was still unsure. She highly doubted that these other kids would even want her in their club, and maybe she didn't want to be there, anyway.

But at the same time, she couldn't help but be somewhat intrigued by the idea of having others to share her passion with.

"You could just check it out," Thomas suggested hopefully. "Our first meeting is going to be on Saturday at three in Professor Hector's room."

"Where's that?" she asked grudgingly.

"Third floor, down the hall, and to the right of the painting of those freaky vicars," he said. "Terry and I couldn't agree on a meeting length, so we're just going to go with it and see how long everyone wants to stick around."

Pansy hesitated, and Thomas said almost pleadingly, "Just come to the first meeting. Couldn't hurt to have a look, would it?"

He had a point. And why not? It was only one meeting, and she could always change her mind. "I suppose I'll take a look," she ceded.

Thomas' mouth immediately broke into that smile again. The one that showed all of his teeth. "Great," he said excitedly.

His smile turned out to be contagious, and Pansy was disturbed to find herself grinning back at him. He just seemed so excited that she was going to be there, and it caused a rare and flattered feeling to go through her.

They continued to smile at each other until Pansy felt the need to unnecessarily clear her throat again. Definitely blushing this time, she dropped her gaze back to the notebook that was proving a very convenient diversion. A fluttery feeling was in her stomach and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

Pansy's hand froze when she suddenly came across a sketch of Professor Snape that was particularly unflattering. The smile wilted off of her face as she stared at it.

The dark mark was on his arm.

"That's supposed to be oil dripping off of him, I take it?" Pansy said coldly, no longer excited. She felt vaguely sick.

Thomas noticed her change in demeanor and said anxiously, "It's just a picture."

Pansy didn't reply to that. For a moment she had forgotten whom she was talking to. Not only was this boy a Muggleborn Gryffindor, but he was also in Potter's inner ring. What else did she expect?

A mental memo went to her head about remembering that her fellow Slytherins were the only ones that she should ever feel comfortable with. Well, Draco anyway.

Too bad he wasn't into art.

Pansy handed the notebook back to Thomas and asked frostily, "So, what are we supposed to be doing?"

Thomas' face fell at her tone. "First thing we have to do is find one of them," he said unhappily, referring to the temulas.

Pansy turned abruptly and continued down the pathway at a brisk pace that forced Thomas to almost jog to keep up with her.

"Look, about the picture--"

"I think that we should get off of the pathway if we're going to find one," Pansy said curtly, cutting him off. "I've never seen a temula before, so they must be hidden somewhere."

She began walking in a different direction that led them into the thicket of trees.

Unwilling to give up, Thomas said, "I know that you probably like him, but--"

"Look! Is that one?" she cried randomly, pointing at some indistinct place in front of them, hoping to distract him.

"Err, no. That's a mushroom. But, Pansy--"

Pansy gaped at him, plainly startled. "What did you call me?" she asked sharply.

Before Thomas could answer, there was a rustling noise behind them. Pansy turned to see Blaise and Granger shove their way through some low brush.

"Found one of the little buggers, yet?" Blaise asked. She was carrying their pot in her arms.

"Nope," Pansy answered honestly.

"Well, I have," Blaise said smugly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Let me see it, then, so that I'll know what the blasted things look like." She took the pot from Blaise and stared into it.

"When you're finished, could I please see it?" Granger asked Pansy wearily, giving Blaise an annoyed look.

Pansy and Blaise both ignored her.

"These are temulas?" Pansy said, wrinkling her nose in contempt. The tiny plant in front of her strongly resembled a small cabbage. Her mother's wedding ring was twice its size.

Thomas moved closer so that he could see it himself. "Where did you find it?" he asked.

Blaise gave him a disdainful look and didn't bother answering him.

Pansy sighed. "Where did you find it, Blaise?" she repeated.

"They like the shade," Granger grumbled, kicking at the dirt with her shoe. It was obvious that she wasn't pleased with the current company. Well, that went three ways.

Blaise scowled at her. "Nobody was talking to you, Mudblood!"

Both Granger and Thomas gave her cold looks. If Weasely had been around, he probably would have done something very ungentlemanly to Blaise, and nobody would have made a move to stop him.

"Fine!" Granger spat. She turned and spoke pointedly to Thomas. "I suggest checking over there, Dean," she said, pointing in the direction of a small cluster of bushes.

Eyebrows raised, Thomas walked over and bent down onto his knees so that he could see underneath the bushes.

"Hey! I think that's one of them!" he cried.

Sharing a disgruntled look with Blaise, Pansy followed him over to the shady area.

"Well pull it out."

"I... can't!" he gasped, tugging at something under the bush. "It's stuck! Help me!"

Pansy eyed the wet earth with distaste. "I don't think so."

Thomas tilted his head to the side and gave her a look. She raised a single eyebrow at him in response. After that picture of Professor Snape, she wasn't feeling too inclined to help him out.

Thomas sighed and said patiently, "The sooner we get this thing potted, the sooner we can be done for the day."

Logic.

Damn.

Pansy groaned for effect but got down on her knees next to him anyway. The mud underneath her made a squishing noise, no doubt seeping into her robes. Pansy tried not to wince, but she could just hear what her mother would say if she saw her daughter in this position.

She leaned down and peered underneath the bush. It was a temula all right.

Thomas had shoved the dirt around enough so that the roots were visible. The roots were surprisingly large. Thomas had a grip on one of them. Bending even lower and supporting herself on one hand, Pansy reached underneath and grabbed another root.

"Pull!"

They both gritted their teeth and tugged, but the plant didn't so much as budge.

"Damn it!" Pansy swore.

"You can't just pull it out," Granger explained impatiently, marching over to them.

"Then, how?" Thomas asked.

"Talk to it," Granger said simply.

They stared at her. "Huh?"

Granger shook her bushy hair in annoyance. "They're suspicious of people. You have to get it to trust you before it will come out of the ground."

Thomas blinked at her blankly. "Once again, what now?"

"Oh, for... Introduce yourselves!" Granger snapped.

Thomas smirked and then bent over again and said, "Hi there," in an amused voice.

Nothing happened.

"You try," Thomas said to her.

Pansy raised a skeptical eyebrow but she decided to play along. "Um, hello," she said to it, feeling foolish.

To both of their shock, the little cabbage let out a gasp and flexed its tiny leaf folds.

"Holy crap!" Pansy cried, almost slipping face first into the mire.

Blaise laughed openly at her.

"You could have warned me," Pansy said accusingly.

"I know," Blaise said happily.

Thomas reached under and tried pulling the plant out of the ground again, but with no success. He frowned and considered the plant thoughtfully. "Maybe we should get better acquainted with it first."

Pansy grunted her agreement. There was disgusting, slick mud in between her fingers now.

"Go for it," he said with a grin.

Not amused, she glowered at him. "Why me?"

"Because it obviously likes you," he said, smiling at her.

"Well, I don't like it," she grumbled childishly.

"Maybe if you gave it a chance," he said seriously, staring straight into her eyes.

Pansy glared back. "I don't have to give it a chance," she said through gritted teeth.

"No, but you should. If you don't, you could be missing out on something, and you'll regret it later," he said earnestly.

"There's nothing to miss out on!" she shot back.

"Any day now," Blaise said loudly, bringing an unofficial end to the conversation.

Pansy was actually grateful to her.

"Go ahead," Thomas repeated, no longer looking at her.

She sighed, unhappy with having to be the one to do it. "So. You're a plant," she said for lack of anything better to say. She really wished that she didn't have to do this in front of Blaise.

The temula stretched again, but didn't make any noise.

"Try again," Thomas said.

She hesitated and then said, "My name is Pansy and this here is Thomas."

"Dean," he corrected automatically.

Pansy gave him a startled look but was saved from commenting by the temula. It squeaked softly, almost as if it were greeting them. She was tempted to smile. The stupid thing was almost cute.

"Pansy and I like to draw," Thomas contributed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Pansy flinched at the casual use of her name. She didn't have to look to feel Blaise's sharp eyes boring into her back.

"Yes, and Pansy tends to get defensive easily," he continued, ignoring her indignant expression. "But I bet that she'll come around eventually. We just have to give her time."

Mouth open, she stared at him incredulously. What the hell?

The temula made another noise and the roots wiggled slightly.

Thomas kept going. "I'm hoping that Pansy will show me her paintings so that I can get to know her better. Maybe then I'll be able to understand why she's so private and closed off."

One of the temula's roots actually lifted out of the ground and shook as if waking from a long sleep.

Thomas laughed. "I think that we should try now."

But Pansy didn't move. There was no way in hell that she was going to let him see her paintings now. And Blaise was really going to cut into her later for this. What the heck was he doing?

Still avoiding her eyes, Thomas reached forward and pulled the unresisting temula out of the ground. He sat up and retrieved the pot from its place near their feet.

Pansy risked a glance out of the corner of her eye at the other girls. She instantly regretted it. Blaise's eyes met hers and Pansy could actually feel the waves of calculating suspicion rolling off of her. Not good.

Shuddering inwardly, she looked at Granger, who was glaring angrily at Thomas as he carefully covered the roots of the plant with the soil in the pot, making sure that it was comfortable.

"Well, that's it!" Thomas said triumphantly, cradling the pot, as he stood upright.

Frowning, Pansy stood up. Wiping her hands on the front of her already dirty robe, she grabbed her wand from the inside pocket and muttered, "Feo tarsus," over the soiled garment and then over her hands. Satisfied, she smoothed out the fabric, carefully avoiding everyone's eyes. She didn't bother fixing Thomas' robes.

"Good," Granger said, grabbing her own pot out of Blaise's arms while she was distracted. Not looking back, she took off in the direction of the clearing where the professor was waiting.

Pansy followed her, not waiting for Thomas. She didn't know what to say to him. Blaise fell into step beside her.

"What the hell was that about?" she spat.

"How should I know?" Pansy said angrily.

Blaise cocked her head to the side as she studied Pansy's flustered state. The calculated look was back on her face. "If I didn't know better--"

"You don't!" Pansy snapped.

When they got back to the large fountain, Pansy headed straight for Draco, who was standing with Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco's upper lip was curled as he looked down into his pot. "So much for the Muggleborn-eating plant theory. These things are pathetic."

"Maybe it likes to snack on their fingers," Crabbe joked awkwardly.

Draco smirked. "Still not as entertaining."

He noticed that Pansy was silent and gave her a questioning look. "What's the matter?"

Pansy had been watching Blaise apprehensively, who was saying something to Alyssa and Raquel that was making them snicker. No doubt she was telling them about the things that Thomas had said, probably adding a few of her own details into the mix for entertainment value. She gave Draco a weak smile.

"Nothing."

He looked skeptical, but the professor had started squawking at Longbottom, so he didn't have a chance to ask, again.

"Don't go poking at them! How would you like it if somebody was poking at you like that?"

Longbottom obviously didn't know how to respond to that. He gave his partner a helpless look, but Brown merely shrugged at him.

"I trust that everyone has successfully located and potted a temula?" she asked the class. "Yes? Good. Now, label your pots and put them on the counter in the greenhouse. Then you're free to go! We'll continue our work with the temulas next week."

The Gryffindors turned and trudged up to the greenhouse, some still covered in mud. The Slytherins purposely walked slower, holding back so that they could talk.

Pansy sighed as Millicent hurried up next to her. She had been expecting this.

"I think that it's time for another Slytherin meeting," Draco said solemnly.

"After classes?" Theodore asked.

"No. We have Quidditch practice."

"Again?" Goyle cried, aghast.

Draco gave him a sharp look. "Yes, again. And again until Potter's head is finally smashed in by one of your blasted bludgers!"

"So when's the meeting?" Theodore asked impatiently.

"I'll let you know," Draco said.

"Bloody ridiculous," Pansy muttered loudly.

They ignored her.

When they reached the greenhouse, Pansy waited outside while Draco put his temula on the counter. When he reemerged, they both began their way back up to the castle together.

"Did you manage to de-virginize Brown?" Pansy asked sardonically, still unhappy with him.

Draco laughed. "I wasn't serious, Pansy. Give me some credit. Touching a blood-traitor like Brown would be like fondling a blast-ended skrewt! It was just funny provoking Finnigan's Irish temper."

Pansy shook her head, torn between relief and disgust. She opened her mouth to chastise him, but she suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. Before she had even turned around, Thomas had pushed a piece of parchment into her hand. "So that you don't forget," he said.

Draco snatched it out of her hand before Pansy could read it. He scanned it quickly, and then gave Thomas a malevolent glare. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.

Pansy grabbed it back from him to read it for herself. It was the directions to the club meeting and the time.

"You don't give up, do you?" she asked, exasperated.

Thomas just grinned, and then he rushed off to join his friends.

"What's going on?" Draco asked angrily. "Why is Thomas giving you notes?"

Pansy quickly explained about the club.

Draco sneered. "There's no way that you're going."

She frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. This is not the time to be joining some Muggleborn-friendly club, Pansy."

"It's about art," she said defensively. "Not politics."

Draco gave her a look. "It's always about politics."

Pansy shook her head and stuffed the note into her pocket. "Well, I never said that I was going anyway."

"Good."

"But I might," she said quickly.

Draco looked exasperated. "Why in hell would you do that?"

Pansy thought about it and decided that it might be worth it just to prove Thomas wrong about the things that he'd said about her. She reminded herself that it had absolutely nothing to do with the way that he had smiled at her.

"Pansy?"

"What?"

"Why are you blushing?"

*****************************