Forgivable Expectations

Forgivable Expectations

Chapter 4: Estranged

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.

The wicked can have only accomplices, the voluptuous have companions in debauchery, self-seekers have associates, the politic assemble the factions, the typical idler has connections, princes have courtiers. Only the virtuous have friends. --Voltaire, 'A Philosophical Dictionary.'

Pansy ate her breakfast in a stoic silence. Her potions textbook stood open in front of her, but the words might as well have been dancing macaroons for all she noticed.

Pansy had purposely sat with her back to the Gryffindor table lest she be tempted to maybe glance over there. Not that she would be, of course. It was just better to be safe rather than sorry. She didn't need to be giving Thomas any more ideas about late night Muggle games or the impression that she may possibly be considering attending his stupid Art Club. There was no sense in giving the boy false hope, now was there?

But just because she couldn't see Thomas, it didn't mean that he couldn't see her. Every once in a while, Pansy would feel a twitching sensation across her back, as if tiny mice were running up and down her spine, and she would know that Thomas was staring, again. She didn't have to turn around to know that.

It made Pansy's cheeks burn. She was beyond humiliated about how she had acted out on the Quidditch pitch. She had been irrational, and she wouldn't blame Thomas in the least if he thought that she was completely batty.

Merlin. The things she'd said...

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?

If he ever repeated those words to anyone else, then she'd have to relocate to another continent. Morocco was nice this time of year, wasn't it? They spoke French over there, didn't they? Pansy could speak French, and she could really use a tan...

Are you finally bored with the innocent Gryffindor girls?

Oh, merde. Had that sounded like an invitation? Had she been participating in some very ill advised-- dare she call it-- flirting? Well, not so much flirting as taunting, but in a quasi-sexual manner... Did that count as flirting? Did Thomas think so?

Alyssa laughed suddenly, jerking Pansy out of her introspection. Millicent was sitting next to her, with Alyssa sitting across from them. Blaise and Raquel were sitting farther down, a noticeable change in the seating arrangements that morning at the Slytherin table.

"It looks like Moon and Turpin are experiencing some trouble in paradise," Alyssa said with a cruel smile, her eyes focused over Pansy's shoulder.

Pansy turned in her seat in time to see Moon storming out of the Great Hall, Turpin quickly hurrying after him. As soon as the door had closed behind them, a small group of female Ravenclaws-- Turpin's friends presumably-- began whispering madly amongst themselves.

Pansy snorted and resisted the childish urge to jump up and yell, "I told you so!"

And Ravenclaws were supposed to be so smart.

Unbidden, her eyes shifted sideways and met Thomas mid-stare. His dark eyes widened slightly at the returned contact, but then the corners of his generous mouth curved upward slightly. On Draco's mouth, it would have been a smirk. But Thomas just looked like he had a rather amusing secret lurking behind his deceptively innocent expression. Almost-smirking, he lifted his fork and waved it at her in a friendly manner.

Pansy froze guiltily as if she were the one who had been caught staring. Thomas wasn't even being discreet about it. If Finnigan were to just stop gabbing at Brown, and turn his head and look at his friend, then... Well, he would know that... Not that there was anything to know! Just... Well, Gryffindors weren't especially intelligent, were they? Who knew what kind of ridiculous conclusions Finnigan would jump to if he realized that Dean Thomas was blatantly staring at Pansy Parkinson? Or that she was staring back...

Pansy whipped around so fast that her long hair smacked smartly against Millicent's face. The other girl blinked in surprise, before gingerly rubbing her cheek.

Alyssa leaned forward and gave Pansy a conspiring wink. "Serves her right, doesn't it?" she said, grinning like a smug cat.

It took Pansy a moment to realize that Alyssa was still talking about Turpin and Moon. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably in her chest at the thought of... Well, nothing. There was absolutely nothing to be anxious about. Pansy knew that. She hadn't done anything wrong, and nor did she plan to. Nothing.

However, when Alyssa's words finally digested, her eyes narrowed. What exactly did Alyssa think she knew? Did she know about Turpin and Draco? Why was she assuming that Pansy would be happy about the dissolution of a formerly gag-worthy Ravenclaw romance?

In all her brilliance, Pansy suddenly realized that a combination of a lack of sleep and a huge stack of stress had made her a right unattractive shade of paranoid.

Sometimes she forgot that everyone under the sun knew how she felt - past tense-- about Draco. Also, Turpin had hardly been cautious about her little tryst, what with coming down to the dungeons late at night, bumping into people, and bursting into pathetic hysterics in front of the first person she'd met.

Sagging just a bit under the strain of it all, Pansy offered Alyssa a weak smile. The other girl appeared content with that, and she continued talking about whatever it was that she and Millicent had been discussing before the disruption.

Pansy stared at her, but the wheels in her brain tuned out the words. She had been surprised to find both Alyssa and Millicent so ready to openly demonstrate support for her. Well, she wasn't surprised that Millicent was avoiding Blaise's company, but one never knew where Alyssa would sway. Even Patcholi Baddock and her friends were sitting nearer to her today than they usually did, despite the fact that Pansy had yet to acknowledge them. Belinda Oakley had been among them, but an icy stare from Pansy had sent her scurrying. Stupid tart.

The demonstration of support made her feel both flattered and frustrated. As much as she disliked the turn her house had taken in recent times, it was good to know that she still stood at the top of it. She was in control of this situation, and all of the power rested in her hands.

With that in mind, Pansy spared a glance at Blaise. Her best friend and occasional enemy was clearly refusing to acknowledge the fact that she was being snubbed. She was chatting loudly with a group of wide-eyed lower years. They were probably too mystified by the fact that Blaise Zabini was even speaking to them to be much good at conversation with her, but that hardly mattered. Blaise was her own entertainment.

In another situation, Pansy might have been proud of her for how she was handling this.

However, before she could start feeling sentimental, a bit of Blaise's conversation drifted over to her. "All of the rumors about him are true, of course. He kisses like he's drowning and kisses are air."

Pansy's gaze immediately flinched away from Zabini, and she glared at her textbook. That was for her benefit, no doubt.

Her right hand found her spoon and squeezed it until her knuckles became white. Well, that was fine, but Blaise was going to have to discover what a day without friends or allies was like in Pansy's house. Damn her.

Pansy felt eyes on her, and she turned in time to see Raquel's desperate look from down the table. Raising a stony eyebrow, Pansy purposely turned away.

Unlike Blaise, Raquel was being snubbed by her entire house, rather than just by her year-mates. She was sitting morosely, with an unmistakable amount of space between herself and the surrounding students. She kept sending her housemates silent pleas, which reminded Pansy very much of the not so recent past when the girls had been picking on Millicent.

Pansy doubted that the lower years even knew why they were snubbing two of their queen bees, but they were obediently falling in line.

"Was it true that Belinda Oakley fell asleep in the common room with her arse in the air and her brassiere on her head?" Millicent asked Alyssa cheerfully.

Alyssa glanced up and snorted derisively. "You were there. Didn't you see her with the rug burns all over her face?"

That was enough to brighten Pansy's mood considerably. Millicent laughed. "Was that what those were? I thought she'd been hexed!"

Pansy couldn't remember a morning in which Bulstrode had ever been so talkative. The girl could definitely benefit from Blaise and Raquel's continued absence.

Pansy spared her an amused glance, and then she ran an exhausted hand over her face and silently urged the words in her potions textbook to stop blurring. She genuinely wished that she hadn't put off the homework that was due today in favor of attending that disastrous party. Of course, she'd had no way of knowing that she would be spending the remnants of her night out on the Quidditch pitch with a barmy Gryffindor. However, there was no excuse for bothering to get up so early to make his anti-hangover potion.

Honestly. Snape hadn't needed to allow her into his N.E.W.Ts class. Everyone knew that he only allowed people who had scored an 'Outstanding' on their O.W.Ls into Advanced Potions. She had only managed an 'Exceeds Expectations,' and that was only because of extensive help from... Well, some bastard she was no longer speaking to.

Nonetheless, Snape had gone out on a limb for her, and this was how she was repaying him. Pansy felt a hot flash of shame in her gut, and she guiltily tried to angle the textbook in a way that Snape wasn't likely to be able to see from his place at the head table.

The owl post chose that moment to arrive, and Pansy glanced up with more than the usual feeling of trepidation. There was no good news that could come from the owl post; especially not today. She didn't want to hear from her parents. Even if her father had gotten the promotion, then it wouldn't do Pansy any good since she wasn't going to be speaking to a certain arrogant bastard of a Malfoy ever again.

Predictably, a familiar owl dropped a letter directly into Pansy's oatmeal. Millicent and Alyssa at least had the decency to cover and turn their faces away before they snickered.

Scowling, Pansy removed her mother's missive from her oatmeal and attempted to wipe it off. She gave the bird a foul look as it settled down in front of her.

"You're expecting a reward of some kind, aren't you, Winston?" she growled.

The owl cocked its head at her.

Pansy gave a disgusted sigh and offered the bird a piece of bacon, which it took and flew off without so much as a by your leave. She shook her head as she watched it return toward her mother's correspondence room back home. Paying more for the "best" was clearly overrated.

She snapped the seal and two sheets of parchment rolled out for her. Pansy blinked in surprise. She wasn't accustomed to getting long letters from home, just the usual perfunctory notes.

Pansy Marie--

She flinched and made sure her milk jug was blocking the letter from any roaming eyes. If anyone else called her Pansy-Marie, then she was going to have to hex them. The detention wouldn't be worth it.

Your father and I have been enjoying our stay in Guernsey.

Pansy frowned. Since when were her parents on an island in Southern Britain?

There was one rather unpleasant visit from an auror a week or so ago, but the misunderstanding was cleared up, and he proved pleasant company over tea and Welsh rarebit.

She had to stop and re-read that sentence. Her parents had been interrogated by an auror? On Guernsey? What the hell was going on?

Your father has been benefiting from the sun. I've heard your weather has been atrocious.

Pansy was distracted from the letter when the doors to the Great Hall were abruptly thrown open, and Draco sauntered in.

Yes, sauntered. Son of a bitch.

Pansy felt a deeper kind of shame at the sight of him than she had for neglecting her schoolwork. If Draco had been ignorant of her former feelings for him before - although she didn't know how he could have been-- then he could hardly be now.

"I just want to state for the record that you could never stay away from me. Even if you ever tried, mon amour."

Her face burned mercilessly at the fresh memory of only a few hours ago. Far less forgivable, her body still burned from the sensory memory of Draco's mouth and hands. She could still feel his lips and breath against her face. Even after everything, her body still yearned for his, and his mere presence now made it flush warmly.

She grit her teeth with annoyance and immediately began gathering up her things.

Blaise noticed Draco's entrance, too, and she visibly preened like a stuffed turkey. The younger girls sitting with her looked up at him expectantly, probably expecting him to drop to a knee and propose after the way that Zabini had been raving all morning.

For a flash of a second, Pansy saw red. Blaise could probably still feel Draco on her skin as well. Maybe Draco had lied to her, and they really had... Pansy shuddered. She couldn't even bare to think the words. It was just too horrible.

Her shoulders tensed as she, too, waited for Draco's response.

If he could feel the anticipation that was virtually wafting in the air around them, hinged entirely on his approach, then Draco didn't show it. In fact, he barely even glanced at either Blaise or Pansy as he made his way over to their table.

Pansy frowned at this. Considering their disastrous conversation earlier that morning and the horrible things he'd done the night before, the least he owed her was a contrite look.

Blaise, however, didn't seem too fazed. "Morning, Draco," she said sweetly when he was near enough to hear, practically batting her eyelashes at him.

Draco blinked blankly at her. She smiled encouragingly at him, but he hardly looked impressed by her simpering attitude. He frowned a little, and his left eyebrow rose by a tiny fraction.

The female population held its breath at the brink of this social precipice. The scales of power could tip if he would only...

"Zabini," he finally said coldly, before leaning over Crabbe's shoulder and drawing Goyle into a conversation.

Or not.

Pansy let a tense breath out that she hadn't even realized she was holding in. Well, then.

Blaise looked shocked at the brush-off, and Pansy could hardly blame her. She had probably thought that Draco was her path to power over Pansy, and now her path was in shambles.

Well, good.

Still bitter, but strangely satisfied, Pansy continued to gather up her things. She still had an assignment to complete, and a minimal length of time left to do so. Plus, she had an entire day of avoidance to plan out.

She left before Draco could sit down.

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

Pansy desperately attempted to finish her Potions assignment during her Advanced History of Magic lecture. She didn't feel any guilt in the slightest about ignoring the professor. The curriculum had been revised in recent years so that the focus was mainly on dark wizards and attempts at regicide and coups d'état. Pansy, of course, was already familiar with these things, and she felt more than a little bitter about the staff's transparency.

The eating pattern hadn't been the only one altered by the previous night's activities. Pansy had been sure to sit as far away as possible from both Draco and Blaise upon entering the classroom, subsequently disrupting the usual Hufflepuff seating pattern as well as the Slytherins'.

She had taken Alyssa with her, leaving Blaise with no choice but to sit beside Raquel. Millicent was still sitting beside Susan Bones, like usual.

Of course, there were grumbles at the seating disruption, especially from the Gryffindors, but they didn't really have a choice, seeing as there had never officially been a seating chart in any of their classes to begin with.

It didn't take a genius to tell that there was some dissension within the Slytherin ranks. Therefore, Pansy didn't give it a second thought when Thomas gave her an amused look from his own seat.

Initially, Draco had merely smirked at the change in seating arrangements. Much to Pansy's frustration, he hadn't demonstrated any other reaction to the house tensions since then.

It made Pansy's blood boil. He was behaving as if nothing had happened, like it didn't matter that Pansy was no longer speaking to him. As if none of this was his fault.

Well, Pansy could play that game, too. She didn't need him. The show of support from her house members even after Draco and Blaise had publicly humiliated her was proof enough of that.

And why should she even want him back? It had only been about eight hours since she had given Draco that potion, and she wasn't missing him.

After only eight hours...

Rubbish.

He was such a bastard. She wasn't obsessing, of course. He just was.

Pansy was above all thoughts of him, now. She hardly even looked at him throughout the class period. She surely wasn't still planning out hexes to plant around his room for him even when the two of them separated from the pack and headed towards their Advanced Potions class.

She did, however, walk several paces ahead of him and plant herself next to the first available Ravenclaw, which happened to be Padma Patil. Draco merely rolled his eyes.

Pansy forgot about Draco, though, when it was time to turn in their homework. She knew well enough that her work was for shit. She wasn't one of those blessed people who somehow managed to hurriedly churn out gold moments before an assignment was due.

She kept her eyes averted from Snape's as she hastily dropped her parchment onto the pile and then hurried back to her seat.

Her nerves kept her jumpy and tense as she attempted to focus on the assigned work on the board. Patil asked her if she was all right, but Pansy rebuked her harshly enough to silence the other girl. She was being ridiculous, of course. It was only one assignment. Maybe Snape wouldn't even look--

Ah, crap. He was already grading them.

Pansy wanted very badly to gnaw on her nails, but good breeding prevented her. Instead, she stared intently at Snape's expressions from under her eyelashes.

However, it struck her after most of the period had already passed, and Snape had yet to howl in disgust at any of the hand-ins, that she may have very well gotten by. He must have graded her homework by then. Well, huh.

The revelation lightened her mood considerably. Feeling generous, she actually contributed to the last bit of the project that Padma had basically been doing herself, although she never complained. The worried looks she kept giving Pansy implied that she thought she was experiencing personal problems, but eh. Whatever worked for her.

The bell finally rang and Pansy began ecstatically throwing things in her bag.

Snape's voice cut through her relief. "A word, Miss Parkinson?"

Damn it.

Shoulders slumping, Pansy made her way to the front. He was going to drop her from the class, and she was going to have to explain why to her parents.

Snape gave her a severe glare. "What is this?" he asked, holding up her homework.

Pansy looked around uncomfortably. She wished the remaining students would hurry up so that she could do this without an audience. She realized Draco was purposely hanging back. He couldn't quite conceal his smirk.

Scowling, she turned back to Snape and muttered, "My homework, Sir."

"I was afraid of that," he said darkly. He handed back her parchment and there was a large, condemning C on it, appropriately written in red ink.

Pansy felt her face heat up, and Snape continued. "Keep in mind, Miss Parkinson, that a continued poor performance in my class will result in removal from my presence."

Pansy clenched her fists at her sides, and said dully, "Yes, Sir." So much for that infamous Slytherin favoritism.

Snape apparently realized that Draco was still there, because he shifted his attention, and raised an eyebrow at him. "You wouldn't want to be late, would you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked disappointed, but he obligingly cleared from the room.

Pansy mentally flipped him off.

Once they were alone, she scowled at her feet, unsure if he was going to continue barraging her.

Snape was still staring at her. "Now, Miss Parkinson." He leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk in the professional manner that she had occasionally caught Draco emulating in front of a mirror when he thought he was alone. "Have you heard about the art club meeting this week?"

Pansy blinked in surprise. "Err..."

"A student has asked the headmaster for permission to start one, and I understand the objective of this group is more than the usual excuse of using school funds to illegally order butterbooze and opium."

Pansy stared at him. "There's a club that orders opium?"

Snape glared at her. "Have you gone deaf, Miss Parkinson, or are you just not listening?"

"Err, sorry," she said, wondering if he was being particularly nasty to her because of the homework assignment or if he hadn't been able to brew himself his own hangover potion that morning. "The art club?"

"So, am I correct in assuming that you'll be attending?"

She frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "Professor, you do realize who started the club, don't you?"

Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "I can't see how that would be important. Unless it was Potter, of course. The only talent that boy has ever demonstrated is getting his head through doors."

Pansy inwardly sighed at the recurring challenge of getting the male influences in her life to focus on anything other than Harry Potter. "No, but close."

Snape looked livid. "Granger?"

For pete's sake. "Dean Thomas, Sir." She almost felt guilty just saying his full name, as if it might betray the fact that Thomas had held her ankle in his hands mere hours ago. A traitorous tingle went up her leg at the memory.

He sneered at that. "Unfortunate, to be sure. But it could be worse."

"Are you supervising?" she asked curiously.

"I should say not!" he snapped.

"Oh," she said, feeling relieved that she wouldn't have to share him with any up-shooting Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.

"Nonetheless, I still expect you to be there on Thursday."

Pansy was incredulous. "You still want me to go?"

Snape gave her his best you're-an-idiot-unworthy-of-my-time glower. "Hence the point to this conversation."

Pansy didn't know how to respond, so she just floundered ala Neville Longbottom on one of his good days. "B-But... Sir, you can't--"

Snape began rubbing his temples as if to ward off an oncoming headache, and Pansy's eyebrows rose of their own volition. Hangover, then.

"Did you not come to me some years back, Miss Parkinson, and request that I donate my valuable time to guiding your artistic progress?"

Chagrined, she nodded unhappily, although Pansy was sorely tempted to remind him that her parents had offered to pay him for the trouble.

"Well, as your advisor, I'm telling you to take advantage of every available opportunity for developing your artwork. If that means meeting once a week with a group of what will most likely turn out to be amateurish wannabes, then so be it."

Pansy bit back her protests and focused on channeling her anger inward. "Yes, Sir," she said stonily.

He grabbed a bit of parchment and scribbled something on it with his distinct scrawl. "You're late, so take this," he said, handing her the pass.

Snape went back to grading, and Pansy assumed that she had been dismissed. She immediately stormed out of his classroom without looking back.

What the hell had she been dragged into?

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

Pansy never pretended to be a saint.

However, even she eventually got bored of watching her friends suffer, and she retreated to the library.

The library really was a fantastic place.

There were fascinating books on just about every subject imaginable, it had a very serene environment to work in, and Pansy was sure that if given the chance, Madame Pince could be a fantastic conversationalist.

Best of all, there were no backstabbing housemates lurking around the bookcases; just Pansy and an innocent assortment of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

Bloody fantastic place.

Well, except for the Patil girl standing awkwardly beside her table. That she could live without.

Pansy sighed inwardly and continued to ignore Padma/Parvati-- bloody-- Patil. She started humming a tune inside her head.

The other girl coughed uncomfortably and shifted a bit in Pansy's peripheral vision.

What were the lyrics to that old Weird Sisters song? Something about bat wings... Or was that her Potions homework from yesterday? She rolled her eyes to herself and attempted to focus on Arithmancy.

"Err... Pansy?"

Maybe if she didn't answer, then Patil would take a hint and go away. She didn't want to be seen socializing with a blood-traitor like Patil. Whichever one it was.

"Pansy?"

Oh, bloody hell. Pansy finally sat back and gave Patil a cold stare. "Is there a particular reason for why you're disturbing me?" she said icily.

The girl blushed, revealing herself to be Padma. Pansy had never seen Parvati Patil sincerely blush in her entire life.

"Well, it's just that you're using the only copy of Nestor's Guide to Advanced Arithmancy. I was wondering if we could maybe share it? You see, I haven't exactly mastered that new formula we learned, and that test is coming up..."

Bloody hell. Was Patil in all of her advanced courses? Well, of course she was. Ravenclaw. Right.

Pansy strongly considered childishly hugging the book to her chest and refusing to let go of it, if only to keep it away from Patil. She didn't fancy sharing her book or her table; especially not with her.

However, Patil appeared to be on the verge of sitting down next to her whether she liked it or not, and there wasn't anyone around to see... So...

Pansy smacked the book onto Patil's chest before the girl could pull a chair back. "Take it," she snapped. "I was finished with it, anyway."

Padma caught the book clumsily, clearly not expecting to have it shoved into her arms. "Oh! Well, um, I didn't mean to just--"

"Just take the bloody book," Pansy said dully, already standing up. She left her things on the table and headed toward the back bookcases. She thought she heard Patil mutter, "Thanks," but Pansy didn't acknowledge it. Hopefully, Patil would be gone before she got back.

Frowning, Pansy scanned the bookshelves for a book relevant to anything she was currently studying. Truth be told, she wasn't really in the mood to spend any more time on her homework. She'd been in the library for what felt like two days straight, and there was only so much time one could spend studying for NEWTs before one wanted to drive a sharpened quill through one's own eye.

Unsurprisingly, she'd been avoiding the drama that she was sure was just waiting for her back in the Slytherin common room.

Unfortunately, she wasn't that good of a student, and as wonderful as the library really was, she was feeling ready enough to brave the ridiculous melodrama if the alternative was to stay and be harassed by overachieving Ravenclaws.

Pansy turned a bit too quickly, and she knocked against one of the bookcases. A large cloud of dust erupted in her face, and she sneezed so hard that she actually stumbled backward.

She sniffled and wiped at her nose, glaring angrily at the bookcase. When was the last time someone had been back here to dust the bloody books? Honestly. It wasn't as if it were particularly hard to mutter a cleaning spell. Not to mention the graffiti on the back wall. Madame Pince was clearly neglecting her job. If she'd thought it would do any good, Pansy might have considered reporting the old bat. She didn't have to be a prefect to be a conscientious student.

Just then, a random book caught her eye.

Pansy had to squint to read the title-- because the lighting back there really was atrocious-- but a friendly and familiar word had jumped out at her. Walden's Fascinating History of Wizard Art Through the Ages, Volume II. Huh. It should have been under A for Art, and Pansy was at the end of the alphabetic spectrum. Old Pince really was losing it.

Pansy lifted her hand to retrieve the book, but she was abruptly hindered when two arms suddenly enclosed around her.

She let out a squeak as her arms were trapped at her sides, and she was roughly pulled back against a warm chest. Pansy was too surprised at first to struggle, but her brain quickly kicked into gear and alerted her to the shocking revelation that she was being attacked.

She opened her mouth to yell out for help, but a hand immediately clamped over her mouth.

Panicking, Pansy started struggling wildly. Unfortunately, her attacker had a strong hold on her, and there was no one near enough to be of any assistance to her.

However, Pansy stopped struggling out of surprise when she heard a familiar chuckle.

Fury and an entirely different emotion rose up in her when she felt Draco smile against her neck.

"Hello," he breathed into her ear, taking his hand off of her mouth.

Pansy immediately increased her effort, but Draco merely tightened his grip until she finally stopped struggling with a gasp. "I can't breathe!" she hissed.

"If you're speaking, then you clearly can."

"Let go of me, you git!"

"Oh, insults. Well, I suppose that's a step up from silent sulking."

"Sulking? Why you--"

"Pansy, darling, must we continue in such a juvenile manner? I would very much like to speak to you in a civilized, adult manner, if you wouldn't mind."

"I'll show you a juvenile manner!" she growled, attempting to kick at his legs.

He laughed. "Are you seriously-- Hey -- Ow!" he cried when one of her heels connected with his shin. Draco hissed in pain. "Damn it, Parkinson!"

He released his grip, but only long enough so that he could turn and shove her up against a wall, pinning her by the shoulders. She tried to hit him in his flank, but he foiled her by grabbing her wrists, instead, and holding them against her sides. He used his entire body to pinion her against the wall so that she could barely move.

Faces close, breaths gasping, and Pansy's heart pumping, they glared at each other.

She still felt as furious as a wet cat, but the sharp press of his hips pinning her in place combined with her rage made it almost a physical effort to repress the desire to rock up into him.

Draco's cheeks were pink with the effort of restraining her, and his teeth were bared as if he might bite her. "Are you ready to be a grown-up?" he asked menacingly, his breath warm on her face.

"Not at all," she choked out, almost unbearably reminded of the night before when he'd bitten her neck. She could still feel his teeth against the skin. "Why should I talk to you?"

"I'm your friend," he said in a low growl. It could have been her imagination, but his leg seemed to be slipping between hers. Pansy felt an undesired warmth go up her spine.

"Some friend," she said sourly, struggling to quell her physical reaction to him.

Draco frowned at her. "What the hell is your problem?" he snapped. "The sulking was cute at first, but now it's just getting on my nerves."

Pansy glared at him and tried again to dislodge him from her. "Then leave me the hell alone!"

Draco narrowed his eyes at her and finally liberated her arms. He moved out of her way with a mocking gesture as if to say, 'After you.'

"Fine," he said with far more composure than she could muster. "When you decide to start behaving like a woman of your station, then you can come find me. I'll probably be busy, but that's to be expected."

"Do you even know why I'm upset with you?" she cried in frustration, not bothering to lower her voice.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but another student suddenly appeared from behind the bookcase and hissed, "Sh!" at her.

Out of patience, Pansy grabbed the nearest book and threw it at the unprepared girl. "Bugger off, damn you!"

The girl yelped, and disappeared again. The bloody voyeur had probably been watching the entire time that Pansy was being attacked and done nothing, the freak. Probably a sexually repressed Hufflepuff.

She returned her attention to Draco, who had folded his arms and adopted a distant expression as if to imply that he was bored. It might have worked if Pansy hadn't seen it a thousand times before.

"Well, do you?" she asked, sounding a bit hysterical, if one were being honest.

Draco shrugged. "I already told you that I didn't bugger Zabini," he drawled.

Pansy wanted to pull her hair out. "It's not about that! I thought that you--"

"What?" he interrupted, his eyes flashing. "What did you think?"

Pansy hesitated, realizing what she'd been about to admit. Flushing, she attempted to keep down the hysterical emotions that were threatening to rise up. Draco was challenging her to admit that she had been deluding herself with romantic notions about him. She stared determinedly down at her shoes, struggling not to cry. If she cried now, then she'd never be able to look him in the eye again. Slytherins didn't cry, remember?

"It's just... Why did you do that?" she finally whispered, her voice breaking a little. She raised vulnerable eyes to him, desperately wanting a reason to forgive him.

Draco stared at her for a moment, clearly registering the shift in mood, and then he dropped his cool persona and reached out for her. Pansy went willingly into his arms, tucking her face into his shoulder. She felt worse about herself for doing it than if she had simply thrown herself at his feet and pitifully begged him to be faithful to her, but... Well, there was no but; only weakness on her part.

Sometimes even she wanted to smack herself in the face and yell, 'Get over it!'

How pathetic could you get?

Draco pulled back and gently gripped her shoulders. He leaned down so that they were eye-to-eye, their foreheads almost touching. "Pans, next to my mother, you're the only woman that matters. You know that, don't you?"

Pansy wanted nothing more in the world then to believe that. Her entire future happiness was based upon it. She would only be deluding herself further if she thought otherwise. There was no future without Draco in it.

She gulped back the lump in her throat and gave him a weak smile. "So you say."

He smiled, and Pansy impulsively pulled him into a kiss. Their lips were laced with desperation, and Pansy could practically taste it. It was a sad imitation of what she had felt last night.

Draco sighed and hugged her, again. "I won't shag Zabini if you won't go running off."

Pansy frowned against his collar. It was as close to an admission as she was probably ever going to get.

But she'd take what she could get. She always did.

Only thirty-two hours and they were back to normal.

Relinquishing the familiar smell of his shirt, she moved away from him. "Did you come all this way just to physically assault me, or did you actually intend to work?" she asked, noticing his bag lying near their feet. How had she not heard him set it down?

Draco snorted. "All what way? I was just harassing the house elves in the kitchen before I came here."

Pansy gave him a sideways look. "You could have just lied, you know. To make me feel better?"

Draco snickered and followed her back to her table. He dropped his bag next to hers and collapsed in a chair. "So, what are we doing? Writing a groveling letter to Snape, begging forgiveness for a shotty paper worthy of only a first year Hufflepuff?"

Pansy gave him an annoyed glare. "You don't know how shotty my paper was," she grumbled. "Besides, it was your fault."

Draco smirked at her. "I don't know how you're justifying that, but it's amusing that you're trying."

"Shut your gob," she snipped as she reached into her bag for her Herbology notes. A piece of parchment sticking out of a textbook caught her eye. She tugged it out and realized that it was her mother's letter. She had forgotten about it.

Draco lazily flipped through a textbook as Pansy skimmed through the first page of her mother's missive. Mostly it was just societal drivel, but... Wait.

"Draco!" she snapped suddenly.

He flicked his eyes upward and raised an eyebrow at her. "The last time I checked."

"My mother wasn't invited to your mother's tea, again," she announced irritably.

He blinked as if that was the last thing he expected her to say. "What?"

Pansy scowled at him. "I said that your mother is still continuing to snub my mother as if we were no better than half-blood trash," she elaborated slowly and bitterly. "What's going on? I thought you said that Narcissa liked me!"

"She does!"

"But..."

"My mother likes you," he said clearly. "That doesn't mean that she likes your mother."

"That's bullshit," Pansy spat. "You know as well as I do that your mother wouldn't like me if she didn't approve of my parents. Unless you simply lied, of course, and your mother never said anything approving of me, at all."

Draco ignored that last bit. "I happen to adore you," he purred, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "But your mother is another story."

Pansy eyed him uncertainly. "Don't be ridiculous. She's never been anything but a perfectly simpering idiot around you. Don't pretend you don't like that."

"Sure, but what does she say behind my back?" he said pointedly.

She smirked. "That you're a tiny tyrant with an attitude problem."

"What?"

"Well, who doesn't say that?" she said innocently.

"Parkinson--"

"Yeah, yeah. You're insecure about your height, I know. Does Zabini's mother get invited?"

Draco groaned and looked at her incredulously. "What is your obsession with Blaise Zabini?"

Pansy gave him a dangerous look. "Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that she's holding the proverbial knife poised at my back, and certain other allies of mine tend to get drunk and give her opportunities for sabotage," she said dryly.

He glared at her. "I don't think that's it."

"I do."

"Perhaps, my darling Pansy, you're just a tad bit insecure?"

"Are you saying that I have something to be insecure about?" she growled.

Draco smacked his forehead.

Pansy stared down at the letter, biting her lower lip. "Your mother likes me, then?"

"I believe we've established that."

Thank goodness. Without Narcissa Malfoy's support, entrance into the Malfoy clan would be undoubtedly more difficult.

"Is that Patil?" Draco asked suddenly.

Pansy glanced over her shoulder at Padma, who was sitting a few tables over. "Yep. She stole my Arithmancy book."

"She knows where the library is?" he said with amazement.

Pansy grinned at him. "It's the smart one."

"Ah. Well, that explains it, then."

Draco seemed to have a further comment on the subject, but then his gaze suddenly focused on something over Pansy's shoulder. His eyes gleamed with amusement.

Already suspecting a competitor for his attention, Pansy turned in her seat with a frown on her face. When she realized that it was Blaise standing proudly in the doorway, her displeasure only deepened.

"I suppose you'll be needing some bonding time?" Draco said with a smug-looking smirk.

She was too annoyed to even attempt a retort. Everything was his bloody fault, so he didn't need to be so damned amused by it all.

"I'll just be retrieving that book from Patil," he said pleasantly, hastily abandoning her at the table.

She hated him, pure and simple. Albeit, not as much as she should, obviously.

Pansy felt Blaise behind her, and she gave an irritated sigh. The social ostracism had been so entertaining while it had lasted, too.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask that you'll have disappeared if I concentrate hard enough?" she said aloud, feeling resigned.

Blaise ignored her and moved around the table so that she was facing Pansy. "So, are you still giving me the cold shoulder?" she asked casually. There was no hint of any sort of anxiety about her, as if she were merely inquiring about the weather as opposed to the future of her isolated state.

Pansy smirked amusedly. "Are you here with your tail between your legs?" she asked bluntly, leaning back in her chair as to fully appreciate this rare moment when Blaise Zabini was practically prostrate before her.

Blaise's mouth formed a sour line, her cool façade finally slipping.

Pansy laughed. "I'll take that as a yes," she said.

Blaise rolled her eyes and dropped into the seat across from Pansy. "Take it however way you want it, Parkinson, because this'll never happen again."

"Let's hope," Pansy said, abruptly serious. Her countenance became grave, and she was suddenly in the mood for blatant honesty. "I'm not an idiot, Zabini. I know what you were trying to do."

Blaise merely raised a perfect eyebrow at her, clearly unaffected by Pansy's admission. "Do you?"

"Yes," she said, smiling mirthlessly. "Don't think that you'll get away with it."

Blaise met Pansy's stare, and her mouth slowly curved into a haughty smirk. "Has anyone ever told you that you have an issue with paranoia?"

"Paranoia implies irrationality," she said evenly.

"So it does."

Blaise glanced over at Draco. "Is he chatting up Patil?"

"Do you care?" Pansy shot back.

Blaise met her challenging stare, and said, "No."

"Good," Pansy said shortly.

Blaise tilted her head and glanced over Pansy with an evaluating expression. Pansy raised an eyebrow, but otherwise kept her face deadpanned.

When Blaise finally spoke, she said something unexpected. "He doesn't belong to you, you know."

Pansy glared at her, feeling prickly and exposed. "I never said that he did. None of this was ever really about Draco. As always, it's about you trying to out-do me." She shook her head tiredly. "I'm tired of fighting with you, Blaise. There's no point to it, and it's a downright pain in my ass."

Blaise's eyes flashed. "You always think that everything is all about you."

"Isn't it?" Pansy shot back, her own eyes fierce.

Blaise tensed briefly at that, but then she sat back slowly, as if to mirror Pansy's stance.

"Yes," she finally conceded with a bitter smile. "For now."

Her tone sent a foreboding shiver down Pansy's back.

Memo to self: Friend or no, never turn your back on a Zabini. Ever.

She didn't need to write that one down. Nothing new.

Pansy leaned across the table and said in a low voice, "So long as it is, you back the fuck off, Zabini. The past two days have stood as a pretty reliable indication of who would win if we ever had a real war. Ostracism is nothing."

An ugly expression passed over Blaise's face, indignant fury plain as day, but it was quickly masked. She only smiled tightly and shrugged.

Satisfied, Pansy sat back again, and gave a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose now that you've been brought back into the fold, we'll have to forgive Raquel, too, won't we?"

Blaise shrugged, easily shifting with the atmosphere, like a clever chameleon. "I'm sure she's learned her lesson, but it couldn't hurt to give it another day or two," she said carelessly.

Pansy smiled at the irony.

Blaise returned her attention to Draco and Patil. "I can never tell which one is which without the scarves or crests," she said glibly. "But I suppose it hardly matters when the entire family is a bunch of blood-traitors."

"That one's the Ravenclaw," Pansy said, suddenly feeling like Patil's social delegate.

She noticed that Patil didn't seem particularly happy about sharing her table with Draco, who was leaning close to her to say something.

"Could you ever tell them apart?" Blaise asked. "You were friendly with them once, weren't you?"

Pansy's defenses immediately shot up. "Our parents sent us to the same tutor, if that's what you mean," she said shortly.

"I thought you were chummy back in the day," Blaise said, sneering slightly. "Best friends and all that? Tying bows in each other's hair?"

"Well, I thought that you had a crush on Potter during fourth year," Pansy said sweetly, although she was restraining herself from stabbing her quill through Zabini's eye.

Blaise looked appropriately appalled. "I bloody well didn't!" she said shrilly.

"All right, then," Pansy said with a pointed look.

Blaise rolled her eyes. "Right." She looked over at Draco, again, and frowned. "He really is working his way through the Ravenclaws, isn't he? What is he doing chatting up a blood-traitor?"

"He isn't," Pansy said quickly. "He told me that touching a blood-traitor would be like fondling a blast-ended skrewt."

"I doubt very much that Malfoy would seriously take politics into consideration when he has the opportunity to lift a skirt," Blaise said bitterly.

Pansy didn't bother hiding her smile at Blaise's translucent resentment. It served her right.

"At least it's not the Gryffindor," Blaise continued, the thought apparently giving her sour taste in her mouth.

"He wouldn't," Pansy insisted.

Blaise's icy eyes flicked back to her slyly. "Were you really friends with Parvati Patil? I mean, really?" she asked, smirking.

Pansy gave an irritated sigh, entirely bored of the subject. "Pretty girls like that don't have real friends," she said dryly, avoiding the question.

Blaise snickered. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if Patil had gotten into Slytherin?" she mused.

"Which one?"

"The one with less than half a brain."

"Would have been eaten alive the first week," Pansy smirked.

"Or she would have driven us all to a mass suicide. That would have been one way to get rid of us."

"They'll be rid of us soon enough," Pansy said sourly.

"Not for long, though," Blaise said softly.

They shared a dark look.

A sharp slapping noise abruptly brought Pansy and Blaise's attention back to Draco and Patil.

Pansy choked on a surprised laugh.

A furious-looking Patil was gathering up her things like she couldn't get away fast enough. Draco was holding his cheek with an expression of pure disbelief on his face.

Oh, it wasn't possible.

Patil had actually struck Draco across the face. Someone had turned him down.

Pansy was suddenly so exuberant that she forgot to be indignant about Draco's lapse in self-imposed morals.

Bloody well served him right.

Pansy and Blaise shared a conspirator's smile before leaving the table to join Draco across the room. They both flanked his sides and grinned unabashedly at him.

"Did I just see what I think I saw?" Pansy asked amusedly.

"I think you did," Blaise contributed smugly. "Malfoy just got rejected. By a blood-traitor unworthy of licking our boots."

"With witnesses, mind you."

"How embarrassing."

"Can you imagine what people would say if they knew?"

Blaise shook her head mockingly. "It's a good thing that we can be so tip-lipped, then."

"Indeed."

They both snickered simultaneously.

Draco didn't respond to their taunts, if he even heard them.

Expression blank, he slowly lowered his hand from his face. There was a pink mark already forming where Patil's hand had connected with the skin. As if something suddenly clicked inside his head, his blue-gray eyes became so dark that Pansy could almost see a storm brewing behind them.

They were focused on the now vacant doorway.

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

On Saturday afternoon, Pansy hesitated outside the door to Professor Hector's classroom.

This was a stupid idea.

She fidgeted anxiously, shifting the easel against her hip.

What was Snape thinking, anyway? He wasn't even going to be here.

Slytherins, even former ones, really were sadistic. How unfair that it should be directed at her.

Pansy shook out her free arm and rolled her neck in an effort to relieve the tension that had been building all day. She really was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. It was just a stupid club that she was being forced to attend by her head of house. Who cared if Thomas was going to be there? It didn't mean anything that she was joining his club. It could have been anyone, and Snape still would have made her. She was a Parkinson. She could handle this.

Keeping with that thought, Pansy lifted her chin and turned the knob to the classroom.

Laughter immediately assaulted her ears, and Pansy hesitated again. She was about to turn and flee when the door was abruptly ripped open from the inside.

Gaping like a goldfish, she stared up into Thomas' surprised face. They blinked at each other.

"You came," he said perplexedly.

"Very observant, Thomas," she said weakly, still wanting to bolt. Standing this close to him made her embarrassment over her previous behavior return painfully. Flushing, she turned her face away.

"I didn't think you would," he said honestly.

Pansy stared at him, absolutely mortified. "You mean that you only invited me here as a lark?" she asked angrily.

"No!" he said quickly, eyes widening. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?"

"Well, you barely spoke to me in Herbology yesterday..."

"Not that it matters, but it was bookwork all period," she snapped. "And maybe if you'd had something interesting to say, then I would have."

Thomas gave her a look, but he smiled indulgently. "I'm glad you came."

Pansy felt uncomfortable as the recipient of that smile, and she frowned at him.

"Are you going to move or what?" she asked pointedly.

Still smiling, Thomas moved aside easily with a slight bow, once again reminding her of Draco. She shook off the unsettling connection and brushed into the room.

There were three other students there. A small boy with corn-yellow hair was talking excitedly and making hand gestures to a girl with a bouncy-looking ponytail.

When he noticed her standing in the doorway, he broke off his story and promptly came over to her, offering a pink hand and a bright smile. "Well, hello! Cauldwell's my name. Isn't this club a splendid idea?"

Pansy stared at him, caught off guard. "Err..."

The ponytail girl rolled her eyes and shoved the boy over. "His name's Owen. I'm Ellie."

She set down her easel and took the offered hand. "Pansy."

"Oh, I know who you are," the girl said lightly. "You're the Slytherin Quidditch captain's girlfriend. He always gives you the snitch after Slytherin wins."

Pansy flinched, and she felt Thomas' eyes burning a hole into the back of her head. "Uh, no, actually," she said, disconcerted by the immediate connection to Draco made by an absolute stranger. "Um, not. His girlfriend, I mean."

"Friends with benefits, then?"

Pansy turned toward the new voice and saw a willowy Asian girl standing up from what must have been a transfigured couch. She immediately recognized her as a Ravenclaw from her year. They shared a class or two. Her name was...?

The girl brushed a curtain of hair out of her face and gave Pansy a sly grin. "I thought you said she wasn't coming," she said to Thomas.

He shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't think she was."

"Silly man," she said teasingly. "Don't you know never to attempt to predict a woman's movements?"

Thomas laughed and put a hand on Pansy's shoulder. "Especially this one. I don't think even she understands what she's doing half the time."

Pansy looked between them, and then at Thomas' hand on her shoulder, feeling as if she had just been admitted to St. Mungo's. She might as well have been, with the way they were speaking over her head.

She frowned and removed Thomas' hand from her person. "Keep your hands to yourself, Thomas," she said crossly.

The Ravenclaw raised an eyebrow at that. She gave a flustered Dean an amused look, but she still held out her hand to Pansy. "Su Li."

She took the hand and nodded. "Li. Chinese, right? Are you related to Cho Chang?"

Thomas winced, and Su immediately stiffened. She took back her hand, and shared a disbelieving look with Thomas. "Because we're both Chinese?" she said incredulously.

Pansy could sense that she'd said something wrong, and she felt her face heating up uncomfortably. She wasn't used to meeting new people, and this obviously wasn't a very good start. Was it wrong to inquire about one's nationality?

Ellie saved her. She took her elbow and guided her over to the couch. "If you're not with him, then why does he always give you the snitch at the end of the game?" she asked curiously.

"Just a tradition," Pansy said guardedly. She wasn't liking all of these personal questions. What house was this girl from, anyway?

Ellie leaned forward conspiratorially. "The Hufflepuff captain is easy on the eyes, but I think yours is the most gorgeous. Other than Harry Potter, of course."

Pansy narrowed her eyes, both at the appraisement of Draco as well as at the indirect slight against him. At least that answered her question. Hufflepuff. Figured. She must have been a lower year, since she couldn't remember Draco ever bragging about shagging her. Although, she didn't think he'd ever been with Su Li, either. Huh. Surprising.

Owen dropped onto the couch on her spare side and eagerly asked, "What kind of art do you do?"

Unhappy by the double assault, Pansy leaned back so that she could see both of them without leaving a side unprotected. "I paint," she said shortly.

"Oh, Ellie does, too!" he said excitedly.

The younger girl shrugged modestly. "Not really. I try, but--"

"Oh, no, she's good!" he interjected. "Mum always shows her paintings to visitors."

"Wait. Are you related?" Pansy asked them confusedly.

"Cousins," Ellie said ruefully.

"Interesting," Pansy said dully. She glared at Thomas, mentally channeling, 'Save me now, you bastard.'

He grinned at her, but made no move towards helping her. Instead, he walked over to the blank easel that she'd brought. "Why didn't you bring your paintings?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

"If you want to see them, then you can fork out the money to see them in a gallery," she said sweetly.

The other members of the art club stared at her. Owen's mouth fell open. "Your work is in a gallery?" he asked in an awed voice.

"Well, no. But Professor Snape said that I'm a shoe-in after I graduate," she said smugly.

Thomas and Li exchanged exasperated looks.

Just then, the door to the classroom opened, and Terry Boot shuffled in, carrying a large sketchpad. "Sorry I'm late," he said apologetically. "I was--" He froze when he saw Pansy sitting on the couch. He stared at her blankly, as if he couldn't believe he was seeing her there. Pansy automatically stiffened under his gaze.

"Take a picture," she snapped.

Boot's expression hardened, and he turned to Thomas. "I thought she wasn't coming," he said woodenly.

"Clearly, he was mistaken," she said, feeling the distinct urge to beat the repetition of this greeting to death with her easel.

Boot gave her a hostile look. "I didn't realize Slytherins had time for artwork. Don't you spend all of your leisure time plotting in the dungeons?"

Owen and Ellie both gasped, eyes wide. Su Li frowned, but remained silent.

Pansy blinked, surprised at the blatant antagonism. Unless they happened to be one of Draco's cast-offs, then Ravenclaws weren't usually the first to light the torches or toss the pitchforks.

But before she could collect herself, Thomas had already jumped to her defense. "Leave it, Terry," he said angrily.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Boot snapped back. Thomas scowled, and they both appeared to be communicating through angry looks.

Well, they weren't the only ones who were angry. She hadn't asked to be here. In fact, she had practically been coerced!

Defenses firmly up and temper in place, Pansy stood up and folded her arms across her chest. "No, it's all right, Thomas," she said briskly. "It's clear that Boot has something that he'd like to get off his chest." She fixed him with an icy stare. "Well?"

Boot shook his head disbelievingly, as if he couldn't believe his poor luck at having to deal with this. Pansy's fury flared underneath her skin.

"You know, my father works for the Ministry," he said, meeting her stare defiantly.

"Good for you and your father," Pansy said with a raised eyebrow, unsure about his point.

"He was good friends with William Vestry," Boot continued, his dark eyes flashing. "Moira used to invite my mother over for scones."

Pansy felt herself stiffen uncontrollably further. "Is that so?" she said through gritted teeth. "Is that social connection something you boast about often in casual conversation, Boot?"

He glowered at her. "Not often. It's just that I noticed that your Slytherin lot seemed mighty pleased the day their deaths were reported in the Daily Prophet."

Pansy felt a flash of fear at the blatant accusation, remembering her mother's letter. Bloody hell, they had been obvious, again. Fuck. They had gotten careless, and their parents were now in further jeopardy. The Ministry couldn't have any cause to give further investigation into their parents.

Pansy didn't even know who had actually done the deed! Her father might not have even been there at the time of the murders! They couldn't prove that he was! What about Zabini's father? He was the suspicious, brooding type that aurors liked to haul in for questioning, wasn't he?

Ah, there was that lovely paranoia, again.

Boot didn't have anything on any of them. This was just more of the same: Slytherins are evil, so they must be tickled pink whenever something goes wrong for us. Pansy withheld a smirk. It was true, of course. Well, not the evil bit. Except maybe Theodore. And Draco. Oh, and Blaise.

Feeling secure again, Pansy nodded sympathetically. "What happened to those Ministry people was a tragedy," she said with mock sadness. "But perhaps if there had been more competence within the Ministry, then it could have been prevented." She smiled sweetly. "Don't you think so, Boot?"

If looks could kill, then Boot's would have shot her dead yesterday.

"Would you guys knock it off?" Thomas said helplessly.

Boot shot a covert look at him before returning his gaze to Pansy. "So, you're back together with Malfoy?" he asked suddenly.

Thomas frowned, and Pansy sputtered. "Excuse me?"

"Malfoy. You. Back together. Do I have that right?"

"I don't know what the hell you're on about, Boot," she snapped. Why did people keep assuming that she was dating Draco?

"I thought you said she was smart," he said casually to Thomas.

Pansy was already going for her wand when Thomas grabbed her arm. He looked almost as angry as she felt. "I invited her here," he said through clenched teeth. "So, shut your fucking mouth, Terry."

Pansy looked at him, surprised. That was probably the first time she'd heard him curse.

Su stepped forward, then. "Yeah, Terry. This was supposed to be fun. You're killing the mood."

Boot ignored her, and gave a sardonic laugh. "Dean, you've got to be kidding me. I know you've got a thing for lost causes, but this is pushing it."

Thomas blushed, and Pansy resisted the childish desire to stamp her foot angrily. That was quite enough. She turned blazing eyes on Thomas. "Well, this has been fun, Thomas," she said sarcastically. She grabbed her easel and headed towards the door. "Let's do this again never."

Boot scoffed and moved out of her way. "Don't let the door hit you."

Furious and humiliated, Pansy sped past him.

"Pansy, wait," Thomas said desperately, following her into the hallway.

"Fuck off, Thomas!" she spat, not slowing her stride.

"Pansy, wait! Please." He managed to grab her sleeve. "Don't go."

She whirled on him. "You know, your ambush could have been more effective if you'd just brought the executioner with you!"

His eyes widened. "You can't think that I knew he'd act like that!"

"Oh, no?" she said heatedly, advancing on him. "He's your friend, isn't he?" She poked him harshly in the chest with her free hand. "You're telling me that you didn't know that he had a problem with me?"

"I didn't!"

"My arse!" she yelled.

"Will you stop jumping to conclusions?" he cried.

"There are no conclusions to jump to, Thomas! You practically begged me to come to this stupid meeting, and it's pathetically obvious that no one wanted me there!"

Thomas was beginning to look more angry than upset. "I didn't beg you to do anything. You came of your own volition."

"Hardly," she countered. "The only reason I even came was because Professor Snape forced me to!"

Thomas looked surprised, and then peeved. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And what the heck was with you in there, anyway? You kept dropping Snape's name and acting all--"

"Slytherin-like?" she said dangerously.

"Yes!" he cried. "Who the hell was that?"

Pansy was starting to feel dizzy with all of the rancor in the air. "That was me, Thomas," she yelled in exasperation. "I am a Slytherin. I like Snape, and I don't like you. We were partnered against my will in a class, but that's all. You don't know me. You never will. Take some advice from your idiot friend in there, and think about what the hell you're doing following me around and baiting me. Just leave me alone!" She stopped, and her breathing was ragged from frustration.

Thomas stared at her, the expression slowly draining from his face. He actually looked pale, if that was possible.

Silence pervaded the corridor, and for the first time since she'd exited the classroom, Pansy realized that she was shaking.

She clutched her easel to her and suppressed the budding sense of dread and regret that was welling up in her chest. She had meant every word, and there was no reason why she should feel guilty for the look on Thomas' face when she'd told him that she didn't like him.

Swallowing with visible difficulty, Thomas appeared to compose himself. He met her gaze with shielded eyes, and said in a tight voice, "Fine. In the future, I won't burden you with my baiting, and I definitely won't bother to stalk you."

Pansy said nothing, so he continued. "But if Professor Snape asks, then I'll be sure to tell him that you showed up. I'll even do it after every meeting, since I wouldn't want you to be forced into coming back when you obviously have somewhere you'd rather be. No sense in that, is there?"

With a last hurt look, he turned and stalked back to Professor Hector's room.

Pansy angrily shook her head to rid it of any regrets, and turned back in the direction of her common room. It was all for the best. She hadn't wanted to come to his club, anyway. She'd said as much, and it was always lovely getting exactly what you asked for.

Truly.

Swallowing down what was most definitely not disappointment, Pansy turned a corridor and disappeared into the shadows.

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