Forgivable Expectations

Chapter 3: Of Football and Betrayal

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.

There was something ironic about having a Slytherin help you with your make-up.

Make-up was just another mask that you wore when you wanted to hide the less than spectacular uth. It was a necessary evil unless you happened to be one of the very few and entirely undeserving girls who had been blessed with natural good looks that didn't require any kind of enhancement.

Those girls didn't matter, though, because they were few and far in between, and make-up was not the most important mask that a Slytherin girl wore. Oh, no. Not by a long shot.

Nonetheless, a mask was a mask, and having your enemy help you to build your defenses against them had to inspire a bit of humor in the situation.

Irony was a bitch, Pansy decided.

"Would you hold still?" Alyssa said impatiently, holding the lipstick at a safe distance from Pansy's face.

Pansy did as she was told, if only to keep the lipstick out of her eye. But she couldn't keep her eyes from darting continually back to Draco. He was pacing the room anxiously like a caged panther.

Pansy briefly wondered what Narcissa Malfoy did when her husband got like this, because there was no doubt in her mind that Lucius Malfoy did the same thing when he was upset. Most of Draco's habits seemed to be handed down from his father.

There was a thick tension in the room, not unlike when the owl had arrived the previous evening. It was so thick you could bottle it and sell it for a profit. Although, Pansy couldn't think of a single reason why someone would want to buy pre-bottled tension. It was the idea that counted, anyway.

"They're slowly cutting us down," Theodore said angrily. He was leaning back against Pansy's desk with his arms folded across his chest as he scowled at the room's occupants.

"Part your lips," Alyssa instructed her, tilting Pansy's head up slightly.

"No one wants to admit what's going on, but the evidence is everywhere," Theodore continued.

"Why would they admit it?" Blaise asked bitterly. "No one's on our side except us."

"Professor Snape?" Crabbe suggested hopefully from his place on the floor.

If Pansy's lips had been available, she would have smiled at him. Yes, they had at least one ally in this godforsaken place.

But Theodore snorted. "My father doesn't trust him, and neither do I."

"Why not?" Raquel asked curiously from where she sat cross-legged on her bed.

"I highly doubt that either he or his father have a decent reason," Draco said dryly. He gave Theodore a contemptuous look. "For anything."

Theodore scowled. "Where was he when the Dark Lord came back? Why didn't he come when he was summoned if he's really on our side?"

The tension in the room tightened again as everyone shifted uncomfortably. This was a very sensitive topic.

But Nott plowed on, nonetheless. "Where was he while our parents endured the Dark Lord's punishments? He was here, of course. Hiding under Dumbledore's robes."

Alyssa nodded in agreement. "Father says that Snape hasn't shown his face at a single Death Eater meeting since the Resurrection. And that was over two years ago."

"No matter what his politic situation is, Snape is still on our side," Pansy injected sternly.

"Political situation? Are you fucking kidding me, Pansy?" Theodore cried incredulously. "We're not talking about fucking politics! These are our lives here!"

Forgetting about her make-up for the moment, Pansy leapt to her feet and faced off against Nott.

"He's the only one who has ever given a damn about us here, you ungrateful sod! If it wasn't for Snape, the Slytherins would probably be stuck cleaning out the Gryffindors' fucking lavatories right about now!"

"It's not like he's had much of a choice, has he?" Theodore countered. "The Dark Lord came back out of the blue, didn't he? If Snape had suddenly started to treat us like the vermin that everyone else does, than our parents would have been on to him, wouldn't they?"

"And what would your parents have done?" Pansy asked sarcastically. "Stormed Hogwarts and taken the traitor down right in his own office? What would your mother have done? Thrown a broche at him? What about your father with that crooked leg of his?"

Twin glares were instantly boring into her. Pansy met them both, angry at their disloyalty for Snape.

"Even with his injury, my father is twice the soldier your father will ever be," Theodore hissed. "He still hasn't managed to make it into the Inner Circle, has he? Perhaps because he has yet to demonstrate any competence."

Pansy's back stiffened at the insult. But before she could hurl a barb back, Draco beat her to it.

"Competence obviously isn't a determining factor of the Inner Circle, Nott, or else your father wouldn't be anywhere near it. But we're veering off topic."

"Yeah. Can we trust Snape or not?" Raquel asked. She directed the question at Draco, who took his time in answering.

He twirled his wand between his fingers and addressed them all without actually looking at any of them. "There are other ways of demonstrating loyalty," he said at last. "Besides attending Death Eater meetings."

"What are you talking about?" Pansy asked, surprised at this turn in the conversation. He couldn't mean...

Draco kept his eyes on his wand. He remained silent for several beats. "Have you ever considered that Snape might actually be a spy?"

Okay, apparently, he did mean that. Pansy's eyes widened. "A spy? You actually think that he's still serving the Dark Lord?"

"I think that he has to be," Draco said smoothly. "The man's been to Malfoy Manor several times over the last few years, and my father wouldn't associate with a traitor." He said this with authority, brooking no room for argument.

"Of course he wouldn't," Pansy agreed smoothly. No one would contradict the integrity of Lucius Malfoy.

But Pansy had been so sure that Snape was no longer a Death Eater.

Then again... If he were a traitor, then it would explain why her parents refused to talk about him. They could have been afraid that Pansy would blow the professor's cover if she knew. It was possible...

"But if Snape is still a Death Eater, how come he's never said anything about it to us?" Raquel asked. "He has to know what the rest of the school is trying to do to us! A little guidance would be helpful about now."

Pansy started in surprise at hearing her own thoughts come out of Raquel's mouth. She had been alone with Professor Snape countless times, and he had never once confided anything to her that was even remotely related to the Dark Lord.

"And blow his cover?" Draco shot back. "Why? Because of some stupid little plants?"

"But they're mocking us!" Blaise screeched. "The MHO--"

"Is none of our concern," Draco finished. He paused long enough to give them all his best I'm-in-charge-and-I-know-what-I'm-doing smirk. "The MHO is useless and hardly a threat to us. If bloody temulas are the best that they can come up with than we should be considering this a victory."

Pansy shook her head in amazement. This new, secure attitude was definitely not resembling the barely contained anger she had seen this morning. Apparently Quidditch had more benefits for Draco than just his resultantly attractive physique.

Theodore still seemed far from convinced. "A victory?" he said dubiously. "No, a victory will be when we finally torch this place to the ground."

Pansy rolled her eyes. Theodore always talked about "torching" Hogwarts to the ground. Given the opportunity, she doubted that he'd even know what to do when handed a match.

He continued. "And I don't care what you say about Snape. He still can't be trusted."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Pansy exploded. "Have you not heard a word that Draco or I have said to you?"

"Why are you defending him, Parkinson?" Blaise asked with a mean glint in her eye. "He sure as hell didn't defend you when Dumbledore stripped you of your prefect position."

So, there it was. She had wondered how long it would take for that to come up.

But just because Pansy was prepared for it didn't mean that she was any less furious at its introduction. "My grades fell," she said through gritted teeth.

"Right," Blaise snorted. "I'm sure that it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that they didn't feel they could trust you anymore."

The Slytherins exchanged looks. Pansy clenched her teeth and glared at her feet.

Her grades had fallen toward the end of her fifth year, but not enough to justify removal from her position. Hell, Weasely's grades had probably been twice as bad as hers even after the drop, and he still managed to keep his position.

Not to forget that Pansy had also done exceptionally well on her O.W.L.s. Hell, she had even managed to achieve an 'Exceeds Expectations' on her Potions exam, for crissakes! That was no small achievement in itself. Her second year N.E.W.T class was notably small, and her marks had been consistently good in the class. You could say whatever you wanted about Professor Snape's Slytherin bias, but it didn't change the fact that she and Draco were the only Slytherin students in the class, nor the fact that Pansy was only fifth in line for the highest marks, behind Granger, Draco, and two Ravenclaws.

Nonetheless, no position of authority had ever been offered to her again.

It had been a hard blow to take, especially since Pansy couldn't shake the suspicion that she had been graded a bit harshly that year by the teachers who obviously disapproved of the Inquisitor's Squad and their open support of Umbridge.

God, she missed that woman!

"That was a good year, though, wasn't it?" Alyssa said wistfully.

Yeah, it had been. Thanks to Umbridge, the Slytherins had finally been on top for once; Potter had been banned from Quidditch; and the rest of the student body had finally known what it was like to be completely miserable. Oh, yes. Detentions all around.

Absolutely lovely year.

"And it's over," Draco snapped.

Pansy gave him a sympathetic look. She didn't blame him for halting the trip down memory lane. Draco had been stripped of his position, too, and he had taken it much worse than Pansy. The reason given had been: "Student has not demonstrated the ability to properly handle the privileges nor the position of power given to prefects." They might as well have just slapped him directly in the face.

Fifth year had been retribution for Draco, and talking about it now just brought back the memory of it all being snatched away.

"So, what are we going to do?" Raquel finally asked.

"Absolutely nothing," Draco growled.

"Nothing?" Theodore yelled. "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

"What exactly do you propose that we do, Nott? Because I'm not hearing any useful suggestions coming from you!"

Theodore met Draco glare-for-glare, not breaking eye contact even as he spoke. "I think we should leave."

There was silence as the comment suspended in the air around them.

Draco looked just as surprised as everyone else. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Theodore visibly straightened as he became increasingly confident in himself. "It's time that we joined our parents in their service to the Dark Lord. There's a war brewing, and the Dark Lord is going to need us with him."

Pansy stared at him in horror. Leave now?

She glanced around the room to gauge other reactions and saw that Millicent was noticeably shaking with fear. The girl had been attempting to make herself invisible ever since the boys had stormed into their room for this house meeting. It was obvious that she didn't want to be here.

Pansy didn't blame her, either.

"We can't just leave!" she cried.

"Why not?" Theodore countered.

"B-Because!" she sputtered. "That's ludicrous!"

"Why? Who's going to stop us? What can we possibly gain from staying here any longer? We're going to war, Pansy!"

But not, yet!

She looked to Draco for support, but he was staring thoughtfully at Theodore, apparently considering it. Pansy felt dread curl up inside of her stomach.

In that moment, she had visions of a Death Eater wedding, a Death Eater initiation, and a Death Eater burial all occurring for her while the rest of the school sat here and snickered about how the Slytherins had gotten what they deserved.

No. It wasn't fair. Pansy wasn't going to die a fucking dropout. No, none of them were. They were better than that. When she was finally handed her wizarding license, at the enemy's ceremony no less, she was going to smile at each and every one of them who had ever called her pug-face or Slytherin bitch.

"I'm not leaving," she said firmly. "I didn't spend the last six years in this perky, little hell for nothing. I'm going to graduate. With honors, damn it."

Her parents would accept nothing less. There was no way that she was ever going to have to tell them about a failure ever again. Not after last time.

Theodore made a frustrated noise. "But--"

"No," Draco interrupted. "She's right."

The support bestowed upon her a nice sense of relief. She gave Draco a grateful smile.

"If the Dark Lord wanted us with him, now, then he would have summoned us," he said reasonably.

Theodore didn't have an argument for that logic, so he settled for sulking, instead.

"Well, now that matter's settled," Raquel stated briskly, standing up and brushing off each of her hands as if ridding herself of unpleasant residue. "So, you boys can give us some privacy so that we can change." She gave Draco a flirtatious look. "Unless, of course, you would prefer to stay..."

Pansy froze. What was she doing?

"I would," Goyle suggested hopefully.

Raquel gave him a baleful look, and Goyle blushed brightly before escaping from the room. Crabbe soon followed behind him.

Pansy glanced warily at Theodore, expecting similar rude interest. But he excited the room without so much as a glance at her, still looking disgruntled about the results of the meeting.

Draco, however, didn't look perturbed at all. He was making a show of considering Raquel's offer. "Tempting..."

Pansy gave him a death glare. He'd promised.

She caught his eye and Draco's gleamed with amusement as he asked her, "Tu n'aimes pas l'idée d'être regardée, ma chère?"

Pancy gave him a false smile. "Pas par toi. Maintenant, pars avant que je n'écrive à ta mère à propos de ton comportement," she said sweetly.

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You wouldn't."

Pansy's smile widened. "Tu veux parier?"

With a dramatic sigh, Draco shook his head. He gave Raquel a remorseful look. "Sorry, but Pansy has made it clear that I'm unwelcome."

Pansy snorted.

"Who said anything about Pansy?" Raquel pouted, giving Draco her best coy look.

Pansy promptly crossed the room to her desk and wrote herself a quick note.

Memo to self: Move Raquel up on enemy list.

She glanced up and realized that Draco was grinning openly at her as if he knew what she'd written. She studiously tossed her head and ignored him.

Memo to self: Draco is a slut.

Draco laughed and said, "I'll see you ladies downstairs." With a last wink at Pansy, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

"Damn," Raquel said. "For a moment there, I thought he might actually stay."

Pansy rolled her eyes again and then studied herself in the mirror above her desk, dubiously checking Alyssa's work. If Draco wanted to see Raquel naked, then all he would have to do is go into the boy's lavatory and look at the inappropriate sketch of her on the tile.

"You know, I hate it when you two slip into French," Raquel said flippantly as she pulled her Slytherin robes over her head. "It's very annoying."

Pansy nodded as if she cared what bothered Raquel, and then wrote,

Memo to self: Speak more often in French.

Feeling satisfied with herself, Pansy stuffed all of her memos into their box and then charmed the lock.

Alyssa came up behind her and watched her in the mirror. "You know, a little more rouge wouldn't kill you."

"If I was going for the painted-whore look, then no, it wouldn't," Pansy said dryly.

"Speaking of whore," Blaise said pointedly, looking at the dress that Raquel had just put on. "Where's the rest of that dress?"

Raquel didn't bother responding. She hummed to herself, fluffing her hair in a casual way.

"Why are you wearing that?" Alyssa asked her curiously. "Are you really making a go at Malfoy?"

Pansy would have liked to know the answer to that, as well.

Raquel smiled smugly. "No..."

"Then, why?"

Raquel shrugged mysteriously. "You'll see..."

Well, as long it didn't have anything to do with Draco, Pansy didn't give a damn about what Raquel was up to.

Millicent chose that moment to rise from her place on the floor. She moved over towards her bureau, hovering awkwardly beside it.

Blaise blinked at her. "Forgot you were even here, Bulstrode."

So had the rest of them, actually. Millicent had a talent for becoming invisible when the group of them got together. It was a talent that Pansy felt genuinely jealous of at times.

Millicent ignored Blaise, but she sent an uncertain look at Raquel. "Is that how you're all dressing?" she asked nervously.

Understanding her concerns, Pansy made a disgusted noise. "Like that trash?"

"Oi!" Raquel said indignantly.

Imitating her mother, Pansy held up a silk blouse in one hand and a matching skirt in the other. "This, Millicent, is what ladies of stature wear to public events. It's flattering without being obscene, and it reveals class without flaunting it."

The edges of Millicent's mouth quirked up slightly, as if she were suppressing a smile.

"Yeah, and we'll compare marriage offers by the end of the year, Parkinson," Raquel called from inside of her armoire, where she was probably searching for shoes. "Ladies of stature, my arse," she grumbled.

Pansy snickered and tugged her tie over her head. She tossed it over the back of her desk chair, and the stiff white button-up soon followed. Slipping into the sleeveless blouse, Pansy stared wistfully at Draco's old shirt. It was hanging innocently in her armoire, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst all of her expensive chemises and specially tailored blouses. She would have much rather spent the night painting in Draco's old shirt than attending this gathering.

Once Raquel had found her shoes, she flounced out of the room with a smile, for all the world looking like a proud peacock.

"I wonder what she's up to," Alyssa said thoughtfully.

"She's being a whore, what does it look like?" Blaise said.

Pansy snorted in agreement as she pulled on her white heeled boots.

"But with who?" Alyssa said.

"Who cares?" Blaise finished.

"You'd care if it was with your boyfriend," Alyssa threw back.

"How long do you think this is going to take?" Pansy interrupted irritably as she dragged some extra Sleakeazy gel through her hair.

"No one's forcing you to come down," Blaise said casually. "If you wanted to stay up here and paint, then I could always give you any important details tomorrow."

Pansy looked at her, surprised. What, no social pressure?

Blaise didn't look back at her, and Pansy felt the stirrings of suspicion. She didn't have a clue what her staying upstairs could accomplish for Blaise, but there really was no sense in taking chances.

"No, I'm coming," she said firmly. "I was just wondering."

Blaise looked disappointed, and it only sharpened Pansy's unease.

She was still mulling over it when a noise from downstairs signaled that it was time for them to join the rest of the lot.

"Well, I'm ready," Blaise said quickly, not waiting for the rest of them.

After she had disappeared out the door, Alyssa turned to her.

"Did they both seem a bit... off-like to you?"

Off-like, meaning up to something.

"I mean, Blaise was actually kind of... Um, nice? She was being nice, right?"

For Blaise, yes, and these days that couldn't be a good thing.

But instead of conferring with Alyssa, a potential ally, she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Pansy didn't know what was going on, yet, so there wasn't any need to go forming alliances.

Yet.

"Are you ready?" Alyssa asked, one hand on the doorknob.

Pansy nodded. She tucked her wand into her high boot and followed Alyssa out, leaving Millicent alone in the room.

Coming down the staircase, the sound of music carried up into her ears and echoed across the stones. Pansy flinched. It was a good thing that Professor Snape didn't sleep close by or else this party would have been over before it started. Then again, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

The common room was rearranged to accommodate a party of their size, with the couches and chairs pushed over to the sides of the room. The center of the room had been converted into a dance floor, and several students were hopping about to the beat. Pansy looked around, but she couldn't figure out what had been charmed to play the music.

God. Was that The Weird Sisters? They were so over two years ago.

Shaking her head in disgust, she followed Alyssa over to where the seventh years were gathered around their favorite couch.

Blaise and Draco were having what looked like a deep conversation, but Draco immediately broke off and moved over to make room for Pansy. Blaise frowned, looking unhappy at the interruption. However, she quickly started up a conversation with Alyssa and proceeded to ignore them both.

Pleased to be the interruption of whatever the hell Blaise had been trying to delude herself with, Pansy settled herself down next to Draco and accepted the drink he offered her. "This is just butterbooze, right?" she asked suspiciously.

Draco pretended to be hurt. "Do you honestly believe that I'd drug you against your will?"

"Interesting choice of words, there," she said amusedly. "But, seriously. Just butterbooze, right?"

"Yes, yes, it's just boring old butterbooze. Now, drink up."

"Where's Theodore?" Alyssa asked, looking around for her brother. She sat on the other side of Blaise, with Goyle leaning against her armrest.

Crabbe, who was leaning on the opposite armrest, pointed over to the dance floor, where Theodore was currently grinding away with a sixth year. Together, he and Goyle resembled bookends.

Pansy frowned when she realized that Raquel was nowhere to be seen.

Hmn.

Draco put his arm around her and pulled her closer so that they could talk without having to shout over the music. He twirled a strand of Pansy's hair around his finger and smirked. "Pansy, love. Why ever did you abandon that gorgeous short cut you had for so long?"

She glared at him and self-consciously smoothed her hair back and away from his fingers. "What are you trying to say about my hair?" Was he making fun of her? Because she spent what felt like hours applying that Sleakeazy gel to her hair every night so that it would behave the next day.

Draco shrugged. "Nothing. Blaise was just saying-- Well, never mind. It doesn't matter."

"What did Blaise say about my hair?" Pansy demanded instantly, sending Zabini a suspicious look from the corner of her eye. She hastily smoothed down what felt like a wayward curl sprouting up.

"Oh, she just mentioned that Patil and her Gryffindor buddies made some comments about your hair that made you grow it out."

Pansy's face was instantly red. "Said that, did she?"

"Elle l'a fait, en fait," he confirmed.

"Zabini doesn't know what she's talking about," she said stonily.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's good. Because I wouldn't like to think that you had let those silly fools get to you."

"Well, you bloody well don't have to," she snapped peevishly, giving Blaise another pointed glare.

Draco didn't necessarily look convinced.

When Millicent finally came hurrying over to them, Pansy was relieved. But then she flinched at her wardrobe choice. The skirt Millicent had chosen stretched unattractively across her stomach and did nothing to flatter her thick legs. She really needed to take the girl shopping on the next Hogsmeade trip.

However, when Draco's hand suddenly came down on her knee, all thoughts about Millicent's wardrobe flew right out of her head. Pansy gave an unintentional jump at the contact.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?" he whispered to her.

"Nothing's wrong," she muttered. "I just don't think that we resolved anything with that meeting." It wasn't really the meeting that was on her mind, but she wasn't about to admit to Draco that she was still sulking over the insinuations about her hair.

Bloody Patil.

She tried not to shiver too obviously when his thumb started to circle on her skin.

Draco shrugged. "Maybe not. But at least no one's still panicking. Well, except maybe you," he teased.

Pansy smiled weakly, trying her best to seem unaffected by his wayward hand. "Yes, but I can always trust you to protect me from the big, bad temulas, right? Right?"

Draco didn't answer.

Pansy craned her neck to stare at him curiously. He was staring off into space with a weird expression on his face. "Draco?"

Draco remained silent with his mouth hanging open slightly.

Dismayed, Pansy turned to see what had stolen his attention.

When she realized that it was Belinda Oakley, giving Draco a disgustingly obvious signal, she felt her insides shrivel.

Draco suddenly smirked smugly and the hand quickly came off of Pansy's knee. She made a small noise of protest, but Draco was already focused elsewhere.

Pansy crossed her arms and pouted childishly. She didn't bother to hide it, since Draco wasn't looking at her, anyway. "Haven't you already been with her?" she asked sullenly, sounding ridiculously bitter even to herself.

Draco tore his eyes away from the tart long enough to grin wickedly at Pansy. "Some things bear repeating."

"I don't think that's the right context for that quote," she snapped.

Draco laughed and stood up, causing Pansy to awkwardly lose her balance and fall over. She watched helplessly as he crossed the room towards the unholy siren.

She slowly righted herself on the couch, silently wishing that for once Draco would be content to stay by her side for an entire night. She didn't like to think that the implication was that she was too boring to keep his attention.

Memo to self: Make sure that Draco remembers to sweep up the pieces after he's finished stomping on heart.

Oh, she wished that she had a pen in hand for that one...

"Would you like a tissue?" Blaise offered with mock sympathy.

Pansy took a deep, mollifying breath. Distant cousin or not, she was not above hexing Blaise right there on the couch. They were really overdue for that talk about the proper boundaries for friends/rivals.

"You know, I heard that Bromley was seen in the restricted section of the library with a fourth year Hufflepuff," Pansy said with equally mocking enthusiasm. "I mean, can you imagine? A fourth year, of all things. And a Hufflepuff! Although, I don't know how he would have gotten her in there... Oh, but I suppose that there are ways... when you're desperate enough."

Blaise's eyes were hard, but she smiled thinly. "I understand how much pain you must be in, Parkinson, so I'm not going to say anything about how lonely it's going to be in that empty bed of yours tonight, knowing that Malfoy will be off shagging someone else's brains out... Oh." She put a hand over her mouth. "Oops."

Pansy gritted her teeth and turned her gaze back to Draco.

Her heart sank when she saw that he and Oakley were sharing the emerald, high-backed chair. Her chair.

Oakley was sitting in Draco's lap with her legs wrapped around his waist in an extremely obscene manner. They were across the room, but Pansy could easily tell that Draco's hands were everywhere.

Pansy saw Oakley take a drink of something and then kiss Draco, apparently transferring the drink between their mouths.

Okay, no. That wasn't even sanitary. The amount of germs and saliva that had just passed between them was just... It wasn't... Well, right. Draco was a former prefect, and he should have known better than to... And who even knew what was in that drink... Christ. Pansy sank lower in her seat. The argument didn't even work in her head, let alone out loud to Draco.

She felt sick, and she didn't even notice when Blaise left the couch with an airy laugh. It was bad enough knowing that Draco did that kind of thing with other girls, but to actually see it was far worse.

Unable to watch anymore, she tried to engage Crabbe in a conversation about the prior week's dinner selections. She didn't really care, but it was a better distraction than none. What she really wanted was to disappear under her bedcovers and pretend that this wasn't happening.

She'd give this party another five minutes or so, and then she'd...

The music suddenly stopped, and Pansy lost her train of thought.

Surprised, she looked over to where a scene was being created across the room. She felt a twinge of hope that it might prove enough of a diversion to keep her mind off of Draco.

Maybe Theodore had been working on a girl who already had a boyfriend. That could be interesting.

Or maybe something had been slipped into one of the sixth year girl's drinks, and she was making an ass of herself. It wouldn't be original, but it could still prove entertaining.

Unfortunately, Pansy couldn't exactly see from her vantage point on the couch. She didn't want to be too obvious with her interest, but she figured that she couldn't really be mocked for it when the entire room had fallen silent. She stood up to get a better look.

And frowned.

What she saw wasn't Theodore grappling with a lower year. No, nor was it a girl making out with a lampshade. It wasn't even a lifeless corpse, which would have been messy, but undeniably intriguing.

No, but any of those scenarios would have made more sense.

Raquel had returned, and she wasn't alone.

Patcholi Baddock, a sixth year, made a strangled noise that could be heard even from across the room.

Pansy still couldn't see whom Raquel had with her, but there was suddenly a sense of forbiddance rather than excitement within her. Why was everyone still being so quiet? If Raquel had snagged a fifth year and dressed him up in a feather boa and one of Blaise's skirts, then there would have been catcalls and jeers loud enough for even the comatose Professor Snape to hear.

But she couldn't imagine what Raquel could have done to cause this reaction. Raquel just generally wasn't that interesting.

Now hesitant, Pansy moved to the side of the room where the other onlookers weren't obstructing her view.

When she realized who was standing beside Raquel, Patcholi's noise made sense. Actually, everything made sense.

Like everyone else in the room, Pansy stiffened.

David Clayborn. Little Patcholi's ex. Ravenclaw sixth year.

Translation: Not a Slytherin.

What the hell was Raquel pulling?

You didn't bring people from other houses into the common room. You just didn't. It was one of those rules that didn't have to be spoken.

During the six-plus years that Pansy had attended Hogwarts, there had only been one other instance when someone had been foolish enough to bring an outsider into their personal domain.

It happened during her third year, after a Quidditch victory. Draco had caught the snitch and won the game for Slytherin, so his year mates--Pansy included--had been allowed to attend the after-curfew party in the common room, provided that they swear to keep their mouths shut about any and all goings-ons that they happened to witness.

Pansy hadn't seen their entrance, because she had been too engrossed in listening to Draco's retelling of the game, and she couldn't remember today whom the older girl or her uninvited date had been.

But she remembered the important part. She remembered an older Slytherin girl--probably a seventh year--marching over to the other girl and slapping her in the face. An older boy and his friends had easily thrown the date out, and that had been that.

It hadn't happened since.

Until now.

Pansy quickly surveyed the room, evaluating the reactions of her housemates to this outrage. Those who didn't look confused at least appeared indignant, which was good, because they should be.

The most disturbing was the smug look on Raquel's face as she hung off of Clayborn's arm, basking in the attention.

Patcholi's friends were clustering around her protectively, and Pansy looked around for her own year mates. Her gaze naturally went to Draco first, but he still had Belinda in his lap, and Pansy realized that this had to be handled by another female, anyway. Just like last time.

Blaise and Alyssa were conferring together nearby, so Pansy made a beeline for them.

"What the hell does she think she's doing?" she said immediately, not really bothering to keep her voice down.

Alyssa shook her head. "Maybe she doesn't know..."

"How could she not know?" Blaise snapped. "The entire Great Hall saw it happen!"

Pansy was confused until she realized that Blaise was talking about Clayborn's very public dumping of Patcholi not so long ago, and not the party during third year.

"But that's not even the point," Blaise told them fervently. "Even if that guy hadn't dumped her, he's still a Ravenclaw. We all know the rules. I've never brought Aidan to one of our parties."

"I guess Raquel missed the seminar," Alyssa said wryly.

Patcholi made another strangled noise, and Pansy started to feel frustrated. Why wasn't this being handled? Everyone was exchanging looks and talking in low tones, but no one was actually doing anything about the situation.

It was when Raquel tried to bring Clayborn further into the room that Pansy finally snapped. This couldn't happen. Raquel couldn't get away with this.

She was across the room before she even knew what she was doing.

Pansy didn't even bother to acknowledge Clayborn. She grabbed Raquel's arm in an iron grip and hissed into her ear, "Get him out of here!"

Raquel made an outraged noise at being manhandled, but Pansy just dug her fingernails further into her arm. "Now, Briggs!"

"How fucking dare you!" Raquel snapped, shoving Pansy off of her. "Just because you don't have anyone doesn't mean that you can dictate what other people do with their boyfriends!"

A humiliated blush spread across her face, and Pansy almost backed off there. She felt an almost irrepressible urge to repeat history and smack Raquel, or to at least let loose some of those useful moves that Draco had taught her during combat training. An entire room of people had just heard that slur, including Draco.

The idiot girl had also just ensured that Pansy couldn't retreat from this unscathed. Not with the other occupants of the room watching them. They were all waiting to see who was going to back down first.

If Pansy was, indeed, the "queen bitch" of her clique, then that made Raquel a rebellious cub that needed to be reminded of her place. As stupid as it was, her authority was being challenged, and if Pansy backed down now, then she would officially become the equivalent of Slytherin fodder.

Brilliant.

Pansy purposely fixed her face into a cool expression and kept her voice low. There was no reason why anyone besides her recalcitrant friend here needed to hear anything she had to say.

"It's been a stressful day for all of us, so I'm going to forgive you for speaking to me like that," she coldly. "But you had no right to bring him here, and you bloody well know it. Now, fix this, or I'll be forced to fix it for you."

There was a definite threat there, even if Pansy didn't exactly know what she would do if Raquel continued to be defiant. She dug her nails in deeper, and Raquel actually flinched in pain.

Pansy held her breath and waited for the outcome. This could get really ugly if Raquel insisted on being uncooperative.

But Pansy's roommate wasn't shrieking insults or calling on her right to bring whoever she wanted to their private party.

She did rip her arm out of Pansy's grip, but other than that, she remained still, staring at the ground with a furious concentration. She was obviously weighing her options.

Clayborn muttered something, but no one was listening to him. If the boy was uncomfortable, then it was his own fault for coming in the first place. He knew that Patcholi would be here, but he came, anyway.

"You never should have brought him," Pansy reiterated for her. She really shouldn't have had to remind her of this. That was what was most annoying about the situation.

But nonetheless, she only allowed a hint of patronizing to escape into her tone. There was no sense in provoking her over the edge. "You know how things work around here. Housemates first. It's always been that way."

Raquel gave Pansy a livid glare, but it soon became clear that she was going to accept her defeat. She took a minimal step backward, and Pansy felt the first tingles of triumph crawl up her limbs.

Clearly fuming, Raquel grabbed her boyfriend's arm and dragged him back out of the common room without another word to anyone. No one followed after them.

There was a moment of silence left in her wake.

Feeling the rush of power that came with exerting control, Pansy turned to her housemates and gave a final warning look to a few of the girls whom she knew could use it.

They all flinched and turned away, reassuring her that she had indeed kept her place of authority. Good. The girls may not have been able to hear everything Pansy had said to Raquel, but they definitely knew what the gist of it must be.

Patcholi was smiling at her, relief clear even across the room. Feeling some brief irritation, Pansy immediately marched over to her and said, "Next time, fight your own battles."

Patcholi's smile faded and she looked chagrined, as she well should have. Her discomfort could have cost Pansy a great deal of security.

But what had to be done was done.

Nodding to herself, Pansy left Patcholi and returned to the corner of the room that had the drinks. She grabbed the nearest available chalice and plopped back down on the green sofa next to Millicent, feeling both incredibly stressed as well as incredibly relieved.

Millicent was looking at her from the corner of her eye, but Pansy ignored her.

Right now, nothing seemed like a better idea than having a relaxing drink of what was hopefully just simple, straight butterbooze.

Pansy sniffed it suspiciously before taking a tentative sip. The familiar taste of butterbooze hit her mouth, and she relaxed against the cushions. The hand holding the chalice shook only minimally.

"She's going to be furious."

Pansy glanced over at Blaise as she settled herself on the couch arm. She smiled humorlessly into her drink. "She's already furious."

Blaise shrugged, obviously caring little about Raquel's feelings. "That was some performance you gave," she said sulkily.

"You should have felt free to jump in at any time," Pansy said sarcastically.

Blaise gave her a sour look. "And interfere with your power trip? I wouldn't want to deprive you of the opportunity to throw your weight around."

"Jealous?" Pansy suggested dryly.

Blaise just snorted and moved off.

Pansy smirked to herself and took another sip of her butterbooze. It was too bad that Blaise hadn't been the one to take control of the situation. It would have saved Pansy the trouble.

Now that the buzz was wearing off, she was left feeling a little embarrassed. She had just done what needed to be done, but it probably had come across as merely an exertion of control.

Great.

That was just the message that she wanted to send the sixth years, their successors.

To make matters worse, she was also starting to feel a tad irrational. Why had she reacted so strongly to Raquel's rebellion? Would it really have mattered if Clayborn had stayed and gotten shit-faced like the rest of them? He probably wouldn't even have remembered anything the next day.

But... Well, if there was one Slytherin principle that Pansy felt strongly about, it was solidarity.

But perhaps she had reacted a bit strongly... Or maybe not strong enough...

Oh, bloody hell.

Memo to self: Leave the politics to Blaise and Draco.

Pansy closed her eyes against the impending headache and leaned back against the green satin. She was thankful to Millicent for her respectful silence.

Just one year left. And then... Well, there was really no harm in hoping that the war wouldn't happen for another year or so. Maybe she'd take a flat somewhere. Far away.

Two hands abruptly came down on her shoulders, and Pansy instinctively slapped them away. She whipped around, prepared to cut down whoever had decided to annoy her. But the words died in her throat when she realized that it was Draco.

"Oh, it's you."

"Oh, it's you," he mimicked. "What the hell kind of greeting is that?"

Pansy sighed and eyed him warily. Draco looked absolutely breathtaking with his hair mused and top shirt buttons undone.

But the reason for his flushed state was still too fresh in her mind to easily forget. Maybe tomorrow she'd be able to separate the two images.

Pansy turned back around in her seat and occupied her eyes elsewhere. "Well, that's what you get for sneaking up on people," she said finally. "What are you doing over here, anyway? Did your whore wear out on you?"

"I love it when you talk dirty like that," he purred.

Millicent blushed and fidgeted uncomfortably next to her.

Pansy rolled her eyes and then drained the rest of her butterbooze, which gave her a slight rush to the head when she stood up.

"Where are you going?" he asked confusedly.

"To bed," she answered. She had had enough excitement for one night. And if she was going to have to brew Draco a potion for his inevitable hangover in the morning, then she was going to need sleep.

"You can't go to bed."

"Oh, no? Watch me," she said, taking a step toward the staircase.

Unsurprisingly, Draco was around the couch with an arm around her waist before Pansy had even reached the first step. She groaned and half-heartedly tried to push him away.

"Draco, I'm serious. I want to go to bed. Why don't you scamper off now and find out how many people have come across a stray pair of your knickers? I hear that those red silk ones have a decent street value these days."

Draco chuckled and bent his face down so that his cheek was resting against hers. "I don't have a pair of red knickers, but it's good to know where your fantasies are these days."

Pansy would have blushed at that, but she was distracted by the sudden onslaught of hot breath against her ear. Her eyes drifted shut as her heart sped up. "What are you doing?" she asked weakly.

"Come play with me," he whispered huskily.

Oh, help.

Pansy would have thrown him to the floor and done just that, but Draco had gripped her hand and was guiding her over to the dancers.

"Draco, I don't want to dance," she protested. "I want--"

"I know what you want," he interrupted.

"I doubt that," she grumbled unhappily.

Draco either didn't hear her or else he chose to ignore the clear meaning behind her grumbling. He pulled her directly into the center of the dancers.

Pansy made a point of pouting again, but she still allowed herself to be enveloped in Draco's arms. She didn't know why she had even bothered to protest in the first place. Draco always got his way in the end, didn't he?

Winding her arms around his neck, Pansy rested her forehead against his shoulder with a resigned sigh. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that his entire body was warm because of her, rather than the more obvious explanation of recent (more than) snogging.

"Why?"

"What?" Pansy asked, annoyed that he was distracting her from the illusion that she was trying to create.

"I asked you why."

"Why, what?"

"Why did you take on Briggs in front of everyone just now?"

"Why?" Pansy said incredulously. She raised her head from his shoulder and frowned at him. "Because she was disrespecting us and her house in general by bringing that guy to our party. Why do you think?"

"I didn't see anyone getting disrespected other than your charity case, Patcholi," Draco said dryly.

Pansy glared at him. "You know that there are rules. Raquel never should have brought Clayborn, and she knows it. End of story. If she wants to stay angry, then that's her problem. I did what I had to do."

"Did you?"

Pansy raised an eyebrow at the peculiar tone of Draco's question. "Of course," she said guardedly. Had she missed something? "Why?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Why did it have to be you? Why not someone else?"

"Because no one else was doing it!" Pansy said defensively.

"So?" Draco challenged. "Why not leave Patcholi to her humiliation, then? What's she to you, anyway? A little nobody like that?"

Pansy growled in frustration and pulled away from him. "You would say something like that."

"Well?" he demanded, folding his arms. They were still standing in the middle of the designated dance area, undoubtedly throwing off several rhythms.

Pansy shrugged. She was feeling distinctly irritated, now. "Nothing," she admitted grudgingly.

Draco continued to stare at her, the corners of his mouth upturning.

"What?" she asked self-consciously.

His mouth formed a full smile, now. "You understand."

She stared back uncomprehendingly. Then, Pansy abruptly grabbed his chin and turned his head so that she could get a better look at his eyes. "You're already pissed, aren't you?"

Draco laughed and batted her hand away. He shifted closer and rested his forehead against hers. "You understand that we have to stick together," he purred. "Especially now."

"Of course I know that!" she said indignantly, averting her eyes to avoid getting sucked into his gaze. "Slytherin solidarity. It's practically tattooed on our foreheads. Everyone knows that."

Draco hummed his approval and ran his hands down her sides, gripping and releasing the fabric there.

Pansy was still feeling annoyed with him, so she remained frigid. But she didn't move away from him.

Unfortunately, her resolve quickly began to dissolve when Draco rubbed their noses together in an Eskimo kiss. He smiled sweetly and tugged at her arm.

Pansy fought it. She really did. All romantic attachments aside, she really wasn't stupid. Really. She knew when she was being worked over.

But she melted, anyway. She couldn't help it.

Her whole body shuddered pleasantly when Draco nuzzled his face against her neck. He was so warm... Oh, but she wasn't supposed to be doing this anymore, was she?

Hmn.

Ah, well.

Resolutions were meant to be broken.

Against her better judgment, Pansy allowed herself to be drawn back into his arms.

She ignored his triumphant smirk and buried her face in his neck. Draco's arms fastened around her and she felt everything but her need for him fade away.

Mon dieu, did she need him. She needed his strong presence in her life to keep her sane when everything else sprung out of control. Like now. She needed to feel his body against hers to remind herself of why she put up with it all.

Because sometimes it seemed like a hell of a lot to put up with.

His hands were sliding and pressing lightly against her back, and she half-moaned at the pressure.

Draco's lips ghosted softly over the side of her face like those of a phantom lover, and Pansy's eyes fluttered closed. "Mmn," she murmured contentedly.

"So, you're not going, then," he whispered.

"What?" she asked blearily, too caught up in him to have heard the words.

"To that stupid Mudblood club."

Pansy blinked in surprise, having heard that plain and clear. The art club? Was Draco still on about that? Pansy had actually already decided that she wasn't going. She could have told him that if she'd known that he was going to obsess over it.

But... She had to bite her lip against the stupid smile that threatened to spread across her face.

Was it possible that Draco was actually-- dare she dream it-- jealous? Of Dean Thomas?

Oh, this was just too good to pass up.

Pansy leaned back in his arms so that she could flip her hair nonchalantly. "I never said that I wasn't going."

Draco immediately frowned, and Pansy rejoiced internally. "But--You just--"

"This club could be the perfect creative outlet for me," she said pragmatically.

"Since when do you need a creative outlet?" he shot back.

She shrugged mysteriously.

"Pansy!"

"What?" she said laughingly.

To Pansy's pleasant shock, Draco aggressively gripped her hips and pulled her against him. "You're not going," he growled.

Pansy grinned stupidly. "Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I-- Oomph!"

Draco's mouth had come crashing down onto hers, and Pansy had to force herself to stop laughing so that she could kiss him back. His mouth was pressing almost to the point of pain.

Surprised by the aggressiveness, Pansy tried to coax him with her lips into being gentler, but Draco suddenly drew back so quickly that it left her feeling disoriented.

With a growl, he dipped his head and dug his teeth into her neck. Pansy's knees threatened to buckle, and she convulsively gripped his shoulders.

"Wha... Oh... Mmn..." Finding her bearings appeared to be a lost cause. She choked back a moan when his tongue drew over the area he had just bitten. God, what was he doing?

Draco's lips suddenly pressed against her ear. "I do know what you want," he gasped. Her entire body melted against him.

Somewhere amidst the hot fog that had encased her brain, Pansy suddenly had a shocking revelation about what was happening here.

Draco was serious this time. He wasn't just teasing her. His hands were really gripping her like there was nothing he'd like better than to simply rip the blouse straight off of her back; and his tongue was really dipping into her mouth the way she had always wished it would.

Oh, God. Draco was finally ready. He was ready to be with her. Any moment now, he would take her hand and guide her up to his room, and they would...

Her knees finally buckled, and Draco deftly caught hold of Pansy's waist, not breaking the kiss.

At long last, Draco was going to give up his cheap flings and commit himself to her. They were actually going to acknowledge the sexual tension that had been between them for years now, and finally do something about it.

He was ready.

And Pansy was suddenly terrified.

In fact, she was shaking so badly that it was a wonder that Draco hadn't stopped to ask what was wrong. It wasn't that she didn't want this-- Christ, did she want it. She had been waiting for years, after all. But everything was just happening so fast all of a sudden!

With a strangled noise, Pansy abruptly jerked her face backward in an effort to break the kiss. Gasping for breath, she hastily tried to bring herself back to full lucidity.

Draco was panting softly, and he stood still for a moment after their kiss ended with his eyes still closed. When his eyes did slowly blink open, it seemed to take an effort for him to focus in on her.

"Pansy?" he said, sounding confused.

Heart pounding, she pulled fully out of his arms and crossed her arms protectively across her chest. "I just need a minute," she explained with a nervous smile.

Draco didn't respond. He just stood there, looking around with a blank expression on his face.

Pansy was too full of different emotions to give much thought to his odd behavior. She started to back away hesitantly. "I'll be right back," she said earnestly. "Just--Well, don't move, okay? I'll be right back."

When Draco remained silent, Pansy practically sprinted across the room to the drink table. There was another boy standing there, but she ignored him and gulped down the first thing her hand connected with.

Excitement was starting to replace the nervousness, but she still needed a little extra courage to go through with this. There was so much hanging on this one giant step that she and Draco were about to take together. She wanted it to be so good for him that he would never even think about another girl taking her place in his bed ever again.

And that would be quite a feat, considering that Pansy had next to no experience whatsoever.

But in the end, she was sure that her inexperience wouldn't matter, because Draco would guide her through it. Anyway, how bad could it be when two people were in love?

Smiling brightly at her newly acquired confidence, Pansy turned around to make sure that Draco hadn't moved from where she'd left him.

The smile froze on her face.

Draco hadn't left the dance floor, but he wasn't alone anymore. Blaise had swiftly moved in and claimed Pansy's spot. Her back was to Pansy, but it was clear that her arms were latched around his neck.

What the hell?

Pansy didn't even have time to work up an indignant rage, because at that exact moment, the bodies shifted, and she had a perfect profile view of the two of them.

The chalice slipped from her fingers and smashed on cold, stone floor.

The boy next to her made a surprised noise at the clatter, but he quickly bent down at her feet with his wand. "I'll get that, Pansy," he said. She didn't hear him. Pansy felt as if she had just been punched.

Blaise and Draco were kissing. No, not just kissing. They were groping.

Her mind was having trouble wrapping around it, frozen in a state somewhere between denial and revulsion. This couldn't be happening. Draco had promised! He said that he wouldn't ever

Draco was touching her. Blaise. Her best friend. Her enemy.

First, there was only scathing betrayal. Blaise had beaten her. Stupidly, Pansy had left Draco wide open to her, and she hadn't even thought about it.

But then the cold reality of the situation finally hit home, and she felt infinitely worse.

Draco wasn't ready to be with her.

He was drunk.

The realization brought everything crashing down on her. She sucked in a shaky breath and gripped the edge of the table.

"Are you okay, Pansy?" asked a small voice.

No, not even remotely was she okay. It didn't feel as if anything could ever be okay ever again.

A hand touched her arm, and Pansy immediately snapped back to herself. She whipped her head around and glared at the person touching her. Patcholi squeaked in alarm when Pansy grabbed her arm and yanked her closer.

"You want a lesson on how to survive in this house?" she snarled, pain gripping her chest.

Patcholi's eyes only widened, and Pansy jerked her head at Belinda Oakley. "You keep both eyes on your friend over there. Sluts like that are just waiting to stab you in the back."

Patcholi looked devastated, but Pansy didn't care. It was for her own good. She shoved the younger girl away from her.

Stepping over the boy who was still at her feet, Pansy raised her chin up and headed for the exit at a brisk pace. She kept her eyes straight ahead when she passed by Draco and Blaise, but she didn't have to look to know that they took no notice of her.

Pansy passed through the outwardly concealed door and kept walking. The green lamps lit up beside her as she passed, lighting her way. She should have worried about being caught out after curfew, or at least about the wet cold that was quick to seep into her limbs, but all she could think about or feel was the sting of disappointment.

She had been so close. If only she hadn't gotten cold feet.

The sensible part of her mind whispered that Draco would have been drunk, and that she wouldn't have gotten what she really wanted, anyway.

But with Blaise!

Pansy shuddered with humiliation and rage. It wasn't fair. Oh, and she had made such a fool of herself. How must she have looked, swooning in Draco's arms, only to be replaced within seconds by her own friend? Fucking Blaise.

Pansy stormed all the way up the stairs and out into the entrance hall. She barely hesitated before pulling open the great doors and marching outside into the chilling air.

It didn't even occur to Pansy where she was going until she found herself across the grounds, down the slope, and standing in front of the broom shed. Then an idea formed in her over-heated mind.

Glancing around, Pansy bent over and pulled her wand from her boot.

She pointed her wand at the rusty-looking lock. "Allohamora."

The lock fell off, and Pansy tugged the old doors open and slipped inside.

"Lumos," she growled, already searching the shadows for a specific broom.

Draco's broom wasn't hard to identify, even if one didn't have the benefit of having seen it on several occasions. It was the only broom that had its own specially made standing wrack, and the hairs were covered in an emerald-colored cloth-wrap. Oh, and not to forget the bold Malfoy emblem clearly visible even from several feet away.

Gritting her teeth together, Pansy reached up and pulled off the cloth-wrap, revealing fine, perfect broom hairs. Disregarding reverence, she carelessly jerked the broom free from the wrack and left the wrap on the floor.

Feeling the kind of mad euphoria that came with rebellion, Pansy marched out of the shed and headed straight for the Quidditch pitch. She had a purpose now, and even if it was only the slightly ridiculous goal of messing up Draco's pristine broom hairs by not brushing them after riding, well... It would do in a pinch.

Pansy was just slipping off her boots to avoid scuffing them up when an unexpected voice sounded from behind her.

"Pansy?"

She squeaked and dropped both her boots and the broom in surprise.

"Pansy, is that you?"

She turned around to see Dean Thomas coming towards her from the edge of the pitch. He was carrying something under his arm.

Pansy scowled at the interruption, and when he was close enough, she snapped, "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Well, you're the last person I expected to see out here tonight," Thomas said cheerfully, ignoring her caustic tone. He stopped near her and stared at the broom in her hand. "You're going flying? Now?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"I bloody well asked you a question, Thomas!" she said indignantly.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Pansy, and I heard you."

She glared at him. "It's Parkinson, to you! Now, either tell me what you want, or bloody well bugger off!"

Both eyebrows shot up this time.

Pansy waited, but when he only continued to stare at her, she made a frustrated noise. "What are you still doing here? I told you to bugger off!"

Thomas actually had the nerve to smile at her. "First off, you don't own the Quidditch pitch."

"Why, you--"

Thomas held up a hand, looking far too amused for her liking. "And secondly, I..." he trailed off and stared at her. "Why are you dressed up like that?"

Pansy quickly glanced down at herself and realized that she must have looked ridiculous to him. A bitter hand gave her heart another invisible squeeze. What better way to end the evening than with a Gryffindor having the opportunity to mock her? He would probably run back to his little buddies and tell them that Pansy Parkinson was hanging out on the Quidditch pitch in her formal wear. She must truly be bonkers.

Pansy was so full of unfocused rage that it was surprisingly easy to direct it all at Thomas. "You don't like it?" she hissed challengingly, stepping into his personal space. "Strange. I was just getting the impression that you had a thing for bad girls, Thomas. Isn't that why you're suddenly playing at being my stalker? First watching me out in the groves, and now following me out here?"

She felt some grim satisfaction when Thomas' amused demeanor slipped off, leaving him with a stricken expression on his face. He sputtered. "I'm not--"

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "So, what's the problem, Thomas? Are you finally bored with the innocent Gryffindor girls? Hmn? Does Granger not do it for you, anymore?"

Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but she didn't give him the opportunity, stepping so close that they were sharing the same air. She heard his sharp intake of breath.

Pansy lowered her voice dangerously. "Did you think that it would be easier to get into my knickers because my house mascot is a snake, rather than some demented lion with wings?"

Thomas' face finally hardened, as he seemed to get a hold of himself. "Stop it, Pansy."

"Stop--Bloody--Calling--Me--That!" she shouted, pushing him away. "We are not friends, Thomas!"

Messing up Draco's broom no longer seemed satisfying enough. Disgusted, she threw it onto the ground and turned to leave. There were so many curses she could be putting on Blaise's possessions while her Judas and Brutus got it on in the common room.

But Thomas halted her progress when he abruptly threw himself into her path. His face was flushed, but he looked determined. "If you honestly think that you're just going to walk away from me after that, then you really are off your rocker."

Pansy gaped at him. "What is the matter with you? Are you glutton for punishment or something?"

"Probably," he admitted ruefully. "But I'm smart enough to know that you're not really angry with me."

She shook her head in astonishment. "Okay, for the record, Gryffindors are not smart, and where do you get off? You don't even know me."

Thomas was starting to look assured again, meaning that Pansy's tongue-lashing hadn't been nearly as devastating as she had intended for it to be. "Isn't that Malfoy's broom?" he asked quietly.

Pansy's glare returned full-force. "Maybe."

Thomas smiled at her. "What did he do?"

How pathetic must she be if even Dean Thomas knew that Draco had screwed her over?

Pansy tried to move around him, but Thomas was immediately in her face again. He shoved the thing that he had been holding under his arm into her hands. "Here."

Pansy immediately dropped the round object and stepped backward. Bewildered, she stared down at the odd black-and-white concoction. "Um..."

Thomas laughed and lifted the ball with his foot, before dropping it and kicking it back up again. "You act like you've never seen a football before."

"A what?" she said, wondering if he had lost his mind.

He grinned. "A football."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stonily.

"No?" he asked innocently. "Well, then I guess that I'll have to teach you, won't I?"

It was Pansy's turn to sputter. "Did you not just hear what I said about--"

"I heard," he said seriously. "But you're obviously upset, so I'm going to give you a free pass this time on besmirching my house and my intelligence. You're lucky that I've already seen the nicer version of you, or else I wouldn't bother. Now, what you're going to want to do with this ball, here, is--"

"Whoa, hold on," she said, holding up her hands. "I'm not learning any Muggle game from you. And you haven't seen any--"

"Do you ever get tired of talking?" he interrupted, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Pansy's mouth fell open. The absolute nerve. Her mother would have had a stroke if she had heard a Muggle-born speaking to her daughter like that.

Thomas nudged the strange ball towards her with his foot. He gave her a patient smile. "Come on. Football can be a great stress reliever. Anyway, what's the harm?"

Oh, if he only knew.

Pansy looked around uncomfortably, half-expecting her housemates to jump out from behind the bleachers. Thankfully, there was no one else out there to hear the madness that was coming out of Thomas' mouth.

"No," she said firmly.

Thomas sighed and retrieved the ball from its place at her feet. To Pansy's horror, he kept it up in the air with only his head.

"No wonder you're so daft," she marveled. "Knocking things with your head."

Thomas grabbed the ball out of the air and gave her a look. "Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically.

"Seriously, Thomas," she said. "You'd probably have better luck with girls if they didn't see you beating your head in with this thing."

"You don't know about my luck with girls," he said, lips quirking into a suggestive smile.

Pansy felt an odd twist in her stomach. "Please," she said, willing the blush to leave her cheeks. "You came out here alone to play with your ball. That just screams of sexual frustration to me. Maybe you should consider playing Quidditch, instead."

"Like Malfoy?"

Pansy flinched, realizing that she had walked straight into that one.

Thomas kept his dark gaze on the ball as he shuffled it between his feet. "So, are you with him?"

"What?" she said, alarmed.

Thomas didn't look up, but it was clear that he was blushing. "I asked if you were dating Malfoy," he said. "I was just wondering if you were coming from personal experience with that advice about girls and Quidditch players."

Pansy frowned deeply and tugged at a strand of her hair for a lack of any other nervous habits. "What, you think that if I were with him, I'd put up with all of those tramps he messes around with?" she said defensively, feeling that painful anger rise up again. "You think I'm that desperate?"

Thomas finally raised his gaze at that, his eyes wide. "That's not what I was thinking at all," he said seriously.

"Then why did you ask?" she shot back.

Instead of answering her, Thomas came forward solemnly and placed the ball at her feet. He stepped back and said, "Kick it."

Pansy stared hard at the ball, and after much deliberation, she reluctantly nudged it with her foot.

She looked up in time to see Thomas shake his head. "Come on, Pansy."

"Fine," she hissed. Gathering all of her frustration and anger, Pansy drew back her foot and kicked the ball as hard as she could. Her bare flesh made a loud, slapping noise when it connected with the ball, but not as loud as the noise that occurred when the ball slammed directly into Thomas' face.

The Gryffindor yelped in pain, while Pansy dropped to the ground and clutched her bruised, aching toes.

"Merlin's beard, that hurt!" she cried, rocking against the pain. "Fucking hell!"

Thomas made a gurgling noise from behind his hands, which were clutching his face.

Pansy made a horrified noise when she realized that she was getting grass stains on her white skirt. "I do not believe this!"

Despite the blood that was running from his nose, Thomas gave her a huge grin like he had earlier that day when they had been trying to dislodge the temula. He was blinking kind of funny, too, when he said, "You've got a mean kick there, Parkinson."

Pansy ignored him, too focused on her bruised foot and soiled skirt to absorb his compliment. "Kick it, Pansy," she mimicked angrily. "It's a great stress reliever. Oh, just brilliant there, Thomas."

Sighing, Thomas dropped down beside her, and to Pansy's astonishment, he gently took her foot in his hands. Silenced, she held her breath as he examined it, brushing each of her toes with his fingers. She squeaked when his fingers slid over her ankle, and Thomas quickly looked up at her.

They silently stared at one another, Pansy's foot in his hands, and her heart thumping radically.

Pansy broke the silence. "You're getting blood all over the place," she said faintly.

Thomas blinked. Once. Twice. Then he seemed to snap back to himself, even shaking his head for good measure. "Oh! Right. Um..." He glanced around, as if searching for his wand.

Pansy reached over and dragged her boots closer to her. She pulled out her wand and cast a healing spell on his nose. Thomas gave her a grateful smile and patted her foot. "I think you're going to be just fine."

Pansy nodded silently. Her toes didn't even hurt anymore.

Thomas stood up, looking flustered. "Do you still want to learn how to play? We don't have to do anything difficult. We can just pass it back and forth, if you'd like. Gently, of course."

"Kick it back and forth? What a brilliant Muggle game you have there, Thomas," she said without any real disdain, pulling her boots back on.

He just rolled his eyes at her. "That's not really how the game works."

Pansy stood up slowly, still feeling dizzy from having Thomas' hands on her skin. She shook her head slowly. "I don't want to play football."

"Are you sure?"

Pansy didn't look at him. "I think I'd just rather be alone right now."

Thomas seemed disappointed, but he nodded. "If that's what you want." He jogged over and retrieved the ball from where it had ricocheted from off his face. "I guess I'll see you at Art Club, then."

Pansy looked up sharply. "I never said I was going," she yelled to his retreating back.

"And bring those paintings of yours," he called back, once again ignoring what he didn't want to hear.

Pansy sighed and watched him go. Suddenly feeling cold, she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

The door to Draco's dorm room slammed open with a splintering crack.

Pansy marched over to Draco's bed and unceremoniously pushed the curtains aside.

Draco was looking a bit worse for wear, his pale skin an unhealthy shade of gray and flaxen hair plastered across his forehead. He flinched under the sudden change in lighting and rolled away from her, making an unhappy noise. "'S bright," he grumbled.

Frowning, Pansy moved around the bed and pulled back the curtains from that side.

Draco groaned and hid his face under the covers. She heard a muffled, "Bloody hell, Pansy."

Impatient, Pansy pulled the covers down to his ankles in one yank.

Draco reacted like a vampire being threatened with sunlight. He hissed and covered his face. "Oh, fuck..."

Pansy just crossed her arms and waited.

Draco glared at her from between his fingers. "The fuck, Pansy?" he growled unpleasantly. "What in hell are you doing?"

"Did you sleep with her?" she demanded.

Draco stared at her--or squinted, more like. "What?"

"You heard me!" Pansy said angrily. "Did you or did you not break your promise to me and sleep with Zabini?"

Draco actually managed to sneer, or at least to grimace with an attitude. "Do you see her anywhere in this bed?"

"That doesn't mean anything," Pansy said gravely. "Yes or no, Malfoy."

Draco groaned and rubbed his face. "Pansy, I can't bloody well remember my own name right now."

Pansy could feel blood rushing to her face. She closed her eyes and took a careful breath. "You tell me right now, or else I will never--"

"PANSY!" he barked abruptly, jerking upright. "For fuck's sake! No! No, I didn't sleep with her!"

The sudden movement must have cost him terribly, because Draco's blazing eyes quickly shifted from furious to pained. He clutched his head and moaned, "Fuck."

Pansy was so relieved that she had to quickly grip the bedpost to keep from falling over from weak knees. It was only as an after-thought that she pulled the small vial from her pocket.

She shoved the potion under his nose with a grim smile. "I figured that you'd be needing this. Drink up, lover boy."

Draco grabbed the potion eagerly. He ripped out the stopper and gulped it down with a speedy relish.

Any other time, Pansy would have taken great pride in her potion-making skills while she watched Draco's skin tone return to normal. Now, she couldn't have cared less about how he looked.

When he handed the empty vial back to her, she pocketed it and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, clearly confused.

Pansy hesitated to tell him that she was going wherever was farthest away from him at that moment. He may not have gone all the way with Blaise, but she had seen enough last night to remain angry and resentful for a mite longer.

"To paint," she finally lied.

Draco looked skeptical, but he also looked refreshed from the potion, so her work was done here.

"Pansy?"

"What?" she asked blandly.

Draco met her gaze evenly. "You were going to say that you'd never speak to me again if I had shagged Zabini. I just want to state for the record that you could never stay away from me. Even if you ever tried, mon amour."

Pansy suddenly felt cold all over. For all their truth, the words stung. In that moment, she almost hated him.

Pansy tried to stand tall and proud, but her voice shook when she spoke, robbing her of any remaining pride. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not your doormat."

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow, only whether it was because he doubted her or because he was unaware of the popular opinion, she didn't know.

She continued shakily with escalating passion. "I may put up with all of your little whores acting like they've got one over on me, but I will not--will not--put up with that from Blaise. If you ever do shag her, then our friendship is over. Done. Terminé." Pansy gripped the doorknob tightly in her fingers. "You think about that the next time she wiggles her hips at you."

Her speech left her feeling drained and exposed, but strangely satisfied.

However, Draco just stared blankly at her, so Pansy calmly closed the door after herself.

But as soon as it clicked shut, she allowed herself a quiet sob.