Forgivable Expectations

Forgivable Expectations

Chapter 7: Don't Believe in Soft Solutions

"Last night I had a revelation
Somehow I have to make you pay
It's all about manipulation
And what it takes to get my way
I don't believe in soft solutions
No one makes a fool of me
Without receiving retribution
No one hurts me and goes free."

-- Red Delicious, "Bring You Down."

The chair in Dumbledore's office felt especially hard and unforgiving beneath her.

They had been sitting there in silence for what felt like hours. The passing time was pressing in on her even though it couldn't have been that long since they'd been herded inside. There was a bead of sweat gathering above her lower lip, and her palms were clammy. Pansy dug her nails into her armrests as a method of distraction, because she absolutely refused to fidget. She wouldn't give them that.

The silence of the room was heavy, and Pansy's mental voice reverberated so loudly throughout her brain that she might as well have been speaking aloud. She tried to silence her thoughts, but they only echoed louder. To her right, Theodore abruptly cleared his throat, and the sound grated so painfully on her ears that she had to grind her teeth to avoid striking out at him. Pansy caught Goyle's eye, and she felt his mutual panic span across the room. She had the sudden, crazy impulse to cross the half-circle and take his hand. Draco never should have led them into this. His bloody father--

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said finally, "I'm terribly sorry, but my memory isn't what it used to be. Would you please explain to me again what all of you were doing in the Forbidden Forest? I admit that I would be rather surprised if you told me that every one of you has missed my repeated announcements over the last seven years of the rules on curfews and boundaries."

"I already told you," Draco said somewhat edgily, "that it was all a joke."

Pansy tried to be casual about the big gulp of air that she was suddenly very much in need of. She couldn't afford to pass out just because her throat happened to be seizing up, but she wished that Draco wouldn't give such an attitude to the headmaster when all of their lives were hanging in the balance. Really, she should have known that it had all been too easy. There was no way that they would have pulled this off. It was a delusion.

Dumbledore nodded, seemingly to himself, and murmured, "You did say that." He reached down and pulled up the dark bag from where it had been resting beside his chair. Pansy's spine stiffened even further. Her heart still hadn't fully recovered from when it had ground to a horrible, gut-wrenching stop back in the clearing when Dumbledore had told Draco to open the bag. Her arm gave a twinge where she could still feel Alyssa's fingers from when they had dug painfully into her arm. The marks from her nails were probably still visible under her sleeve.

For his part, Dumbledore was acting far too serene for a man in his position of leverage. He was calmly lining up the contents of the bag along the edge of his desk. He took his time arranging them, keeping one bottle near him, while Professors Snape and McGonagall stood silently behind him. He summoned a glass from one of his shelves. It whizzed over Alyssa's shoulder-- she flinched in surprise-- and into his hand. Pansy felt a rush of resentment. How long had he been waiting for an opportunity like this?

Feeling trapped, she watched as Dumbledore poured some of the contents of the bottle nearest him into the glass. He eyed it curiously, and then held the glass under his nose. A cautious sniff made his eyebrows rise. Pansy was fairly certain that she could hear a collective intake of breath being drawn when he abruptly took a swallow. McGonagall's hand actually shot out as if to stop him, but she wasn't quick enough.

"Albus!"

But Dumbledore was smiling when he lowered the glass. "It's all right, Minerva. Would you like some butterbeer? Severus?"

"Oh, honestly!" McGonagall exclaimed, pinching the bridge of her nose in obvious frustration. Snape merely sneered in response.

Butterbeer.

No spell ingredients. Just four bottles of butterbeer, all lined in a row on Dumbledore's desk.

Back in the clearing, Pansy had been positive that it was all over, and that they were dead. Irrationally, she was ready to scream in a fit of panic, "Draco, don't open that bag! Whatever you do, don't open that bag!" So, imagine her surprise when Draco did open the bag only to reveal bloody butterbeer and nothing that she had just risked herself to get for him.

"Of course it is," Draco said flatly. "I bought it perfectly legally on the last Hogsmeade weekend. I trust that there's no crime in that?"

No, no crime at all in that. Pansy didn't have to be looking at him to burn holes into his periphery. Pansy couldn't look at Draco or else risk revealing... Well, she wasn't sure whether she feared revealing that she did or didn't know anything about this. The questions in her mind buzzed like furious bees between her ears. How had this happened? Where were the supplies? What did Draco do? There hadn't been enough time to... And where the hell was Bulstrode? Were they even in Dumbledore's office, or was she really experiencing some feverish nightmare in the hospital wing?

"Of course not, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said. The smile had left his face. "However, I fail to see why you had it out in the Forbidden Forest, and why Ms. Bulstrode was led to believe that you were intending to perform dark magic therein."

Blaise let out a high-pitched giggle that seemed to expose more emotional instability than amusement. The sound grated on Pansy's nerves like nails on a chalkboard. "He told you," Blaise said. "It was supposed to be a joke."

Draco sent her a sharp look that clearly said, "Don't help." Of course, she ignored him. "It's not our fault that Bulstrode can't take a joke!"

Dumbledore didn't look particularly amused either. "So, your intention was to lure Ms. Bulstrode outside?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"To what purpose, Mr. Malfoy?"

"We fed Bulstrode a story to get her outside. Then, we were going to have ourselves a little dark-magic-free party. Just a little stress-reliever after a long week. No big deal."

Shut up, Draco. Just shut up. He was deliberately provoking him, and it could only hurt them.

Dumbledore sighed. "And why, Mr. Malfoy, did you tell Ms. Bulstrode that she was going to be performing dark magic?"

That was a very good question. In fact, Pansy would have very much liked to know why he told all of them that they were going to be performing dark magic when he was really planning to switch the spell ingredients for bloody butterbeer. She didn't think that she'd ever be able to look at the stuff ever again without feeling sick. Frankly, she didn't have that much faith in his transfiguration abilities, so where were the real supplies?

Draco merely shrugged. "It was a tasteless joke, I admit, but she really was too easy. It doesn't go any deeper than that."

Pansy wanted so badly to look at him, because she remembered Draco's expression when the teachers had arrived in the clearing. She remembered it very well, and he had looked grim, but not surprised. No, not surprised at all. She wanted to know what that meant. Where was Bulstrode?

"Is that right, Ms. Parkinson?" Dumbledore asked, abruptly shifting his attention onto her. Her head shot up. "It was all a joke at Ms. Bulstrode's expense?"

Pansy felt their stares on her like hot pokers, and she sank a little under the weight of them. Her voice didn't seem to want to work, but she had to say something now, or else it would all be her fault. The compression was coming from both sides, and she really wanted to disappear. "Yes," she croaked out. The lack of conviction behind her affirmation must have been apparent, because everyone continued to stare at her. She inwardly flinched at herself and tried for a much steadier voice. "It was a joke."

"I see." She thought she saw a flicker of disappointment in Dumbledore's expression before she dropped her gaze back down to her lap. The resentment flared again. What did he expect from her exactly?

"Bulstrode has been acting like a right cow this week," Raquel boldly threw in. She looked so much more assured than Pansy did, despite the outright lie, that she was almost grateful to her. Raquel even had the gall to smirk at the headmaster. "She had it coming."

"A joke, then," said Snape, finally contributing something beyond just his ominous presence. His dangerous drawl ran chilly fingers down her neck, and she sank even further into her seat. "A joke involving legally purchased butterbeer. But what of my missing stores?"

The question wasn't specifically directed at her, but Pansy could feel Snape's sharp gaze boring into her, and the sensation made all of the hairs on her arms stand up. She tried to swallow, but her mouth suddenly felt dried out. There was no question about it. He had to know that she was the one that took his supplies. Her guilt was so apparent that there might as well have been a giant G marked on her forehead. A farcical painting no longer seemed like such a brilliant idea after all. Of course, they were never supposed to get caught.

Where the hell was Bulstrode?

Theodore saved her. "Bulstrode took them," he said loudly, obviously trying to regain their attention, but inadvertently startling his sister in the process. They were all on edge, but she looked the closest to cracking.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at him. "She did?"

How much did they know? That was the burning question. There couldn't have been enough time for Bulstrode to tell them everything. Or... maybe the professors had been onto them from the start, and they were just waiting for them to slip up. Maybe Bulstrode had panicked and gone back to the room. It was possible that they were being toyed with now. Maybe all of this was based solely on conjecture. They could have tripped some kind of alarm while exiting the castle, and the professors had just assumed that they were behaving like dark wizards. That didn't explain where Bulstrode had gotten to, but... Maybe, maybe, maybe...

"It was a dare. We didn't really think that she'd do it," Theodore said, sneering. "It's not our fault that she actually did."

"Nott," Draco snapped. His lie was building and gaining its own momentum. It wasn't exactly helping Pansy's nerves to see him losing control of the situation, and she could only hope that it wasn't going to prove to be a snowballing effect.

"No, Malfoy," Theodore said, rushing forward. "How were we supposed to know that she'd develop a spine at the last minute?"

One of the portraits was signaling towards the headmaster, and he said a polite, "Excuse me," before going over to converse with it in hushed tones.

If she thought that the temporary absence of Dumbledore would be a relief, then McGonagall and Snape stood to remind her of otherwise. The older woman had never quite so resembled a bird as she did right then. An angry, perched bird that was just waiting for its chance to peck at them. What was she even doing there? No Gryffindors sneaking out tonight, so she felt the need to throw in her expertise in dealing with meandering students for Snape's benefit? If he only knew... Or did he? How much did anyone know? Pansy wished that Snape would stop staring at her like that. Then, maybe her mind would stop feeling so muddled, and she would be able to think properly again.

And where was all of that shining nepotism that Snape was infamous for?

Dumbledore returned to his seat, patting McGonagall's shoulder as he passed her. She was clearly on her last nerve, but her expression thawed slightly at his gesture. The Slytherins were all eyeing him warily, but he pretended not to notice as he took another casual sip of butterbeer. "Well, it seems that Mr. Filch has not been able to locate Professor Snape's missing items outside. That isn't surprising considering the time of night, but I feel that it is my duty to inform you that Mr. Filch is now going through your dorm rooms as we speak."

Their heads all shot up at that. Pansy felt a sinking in her stomach.

"You're going through our stuff?" Alyssa screeched, abandoning the façade of nonchalance in favor of outright indignation.

"No, Ms. Nott," he said calmly. "As you can see, I am sitting right in front of you. Mr. Filch is going through your stuff."

"You can't do that!" she yelled, standing up. Pansy looked to her in alarm. Alyssa was giving into her panic, and her own rose in response. Even Theodore was starting to squirm nervously beside her. The stupid girl was going to ruin everything--

Draco must have sensed her heightened anxiety, because he unexpectedly reached over and grabbed her hand at the same moment that Blaise had the forethought to reach up and yank Alyssa back down into her chair. The girl made a disgruntled noise as her bum collided hard against the wood, but she didn't try to get up again. However, her eyes remained wild with suppressed fever.

Dumbledore watched all of this with an impassive expression that betrayed nothing of his thoughts. When it became clear that Alyssa was finished with vocally venting her frustration, he said, "I'm sorry, but it is within our rights to search your rooms, seeing as how they are on school property. Some of those items have the potential to be very dangerous, so it's within your best interests to have them removed from your sleeping quarters."

Pansy had to fight back the sneer that desperately wanted to spread across her face. Those items were fine in proximity to Snape's sleeping quarters, and since when had he ever cared about their best interests? How about never? The old bastard.

Blaise seemed to share Pansy's thoughts. "We just told you that Bulstrode took your things. Why don't you ask her where they are instead of violating the rest of our privacy?"

Dumbledore sighed again as if their continued denials were growing wearisome. How terribly sad for him. "Miss Bulstrode is not present, Ms. Zabini," he said. "However, we might as well pass the time productively as we wait for Mr. Filch to finish his search."

"This is extortion," Theodore said, his eyes narrowed.

"No, Mr. Nott," Dumbledore said wearily, "this is an opportunity for us to get certain matters cleared away before we continue on our chosen paths."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? She felt Draco's grip on her hand tighten.

"Now, I'm going to have to be frank with you," he said, leaned forward. He folded his hands on top of his massive desk and stared at them over his half-moon spectacles. "If Ms. Bulstrode did indeed take the missing items from Professor Snape's stores, then it is very likely that she had help."

Pansy didn't miss the strong doubt that he embedded in the word "if." The fact that she actually had was the most ironic truth hidden within the multitude of other lies. So, Millicent had time to warn them, but not enough time to explain her own role? Figured.

"We didn't help her," Raquel said angrily. "Nott just told you that we didn't even think that she'd do it!"

"But you did dare her to do it?"

Raquel sank sullenly lower in her seat and said no more.

"None of you have any idea where these items are hidden? Mr. Crabbe?"

Crabbe shot a glance at Draco, and then dutifully shook his head. Good boy.

"That's very disappointing," Dumbledore said sadly. Yeah, she bet it was.

The door suddenly burst open behind them, and Pansy whipped her head around to see Mr. Filch, breathing raggedly as if he had just run all the way from the dungeons. He probably had.

"No stores," he gasped out. "The little rats have hidden them somewhere else! But I did find these!" He triumphantly held up several of what looked like magazines.

"Hey!" Theodore yelled, pointing at Filch's prize. "Those aren't against the rules!"

"No, but they are of no benefit to you, Mr. Nott," Dumbledore said as he came around his desk to take them from Filch.

Pansy had a brief glimpse of flesh and a winking witch before Dumbledore had his back to her. Realizing what they were, she rolled her eyes. And yet, she wasn't surprised.

"Idiot," Blaise coughed under her breath. Theodore's scoffed, but his cheeks were pink.

Dumbledore moved over to where his bizarre bird was perched. With a flick of his wrist and a blow of air from his lips, the magazines turned into scraps of confetti and flitted to rest neatly beneath the bird. Future kindling?

Theodore groaned loudly, but Draco was already steering them back on course. "You heard the man, Headmaster. He found nothing." There was no mistaking the smugness in his voice.

"I'll find them," Filch growled. "Make no mistake, ye little--"

"Thank you, Mr. Filch," Dumbledore said hastily, turning his attention away from stroking the bird's wing. "That will be all."

Filch continued to glare at Draco, seeming hesitant to leave.

"Thank you, Mr. Filch," Dumbledore repeated patiently.

Having been dismissed twice, Filch had no choice but to take his reluctant leave.

"Well?" Draco demanded as soon as the door was closed. "Are we free to leave?"

"Soon, Mr. Malfoy. Now, onto the matter of your punishment..."

"Punishment? You can't punish us without proof that we did something wrong!"

"But you did and we do," McGonagall said stiffly. "At the very least, you were all out of bed and caught in a restricted area."

Well, yeah. There was that.

"So, detention, then?" Theodore sighed.

Alyssa erupted. "Will you just shut up?" she yelled. "Just shut up, Theodore! You're only making things worse!"

"Ms. Nott!" McGonagall snapped. "That will be quite enough!"

Pansy had to agree. Why were any of them speaking at all? She couldn't have if she wanted to. She still felt frozen, and even though Theodore was sitting right beside her, she couldn't uncurl her fingers from her own iron-grip on the armrests in order to smack him into silence. That, and the fact that Draco was still clutching one of her hands.

Alyssa looked like she was going to continue digging her own hole, but Snape cut her off. "You will get yourself under control," he snapped. She immediately shrank under his cowing.

"Did you have another idea for an appropriate punishment, Mr. Nott?" Dumbledore asked in a way suggesting that he would probably genuinely consider whatever Theodore threw out there.

Theodore must have picked up on the inherent danger there as well, because he merely gave the headmaster an icy stare.

"Just as well," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Filch has proven to be creative enough on his own without any suggestions from me." Pansy was right to feel nervous. She suddenly wondered if those rumors about Filch's chains had any validity to them.

He regarded them all with an expression that she might have called sad if she didn't know better. "I'm only going to ask this once more. No one has any idea of where Professor Snape's stores have gotten to? No one?"

His gaze, probing and measuring, moved slowly from student to student. When it was Pansy's turn, she kept her eyes trained resolutely on the floor. This was only slightly less horrible than being dissected by Snape, and she was pretty sure that he was currently staring her down as well. Pansy didn't begin to breath again until after she felt him move on to Draco.

The silence weighed heavily on them in the absence of any impassioned confessions, until Dumbledore finally sighed in resignation. "Very well, then. You may all leave. You'll be receiving details for your detentions in the near future."

There was the scrape of chairs, but Pansy didn't move. That was it? A detention? Really? That couldn't be right.

Noticing her lack of movement, Draco tugged at her until she stood on shaky legs. For the first time in what felt like eternity, she allowed herself to look up into his face. But Draco was ushering her out of the room before she had time to find purchase in his expression. She felt Snape's gaze, sharp and accusing, on her back as they crossed the room. She even imagined that she could still feel it after the door cut between them.

No longer under direct scrutiny, Pansy instantly sagged against Draco's side. With a surprised grunt, he caught her, preventing an embarrassing tumble down the stairs. Where was the relief that was supposed to come now? They had the almost unbelievable fortune to get off with nothing but a measly detention, and she was still standing there like a shell-shock victim.

Draco shifted her so that he had a more secure hold on her waist. "It's all right," he whispered. "I've got you."

Pansy didn't feel reassured. Rather, she experienced a rush like an icy wind run through their veins. Something was building and swirling inside her that felt like the beginning of a long and painful scream. He had her? Since when? Whose fault was all of this? Her grip on Draco's shirt inadvertently tightened, and he obviously mistook it as a need for comfort, because he squeezed her closer in a way that she assumed was supposed to be comforting. She wanted to hit him. Questioned by Dumbledore... Their rooms searched...

Confident that her legs would hold her, she pulled out of his hold. Being so close to him right then made her head spin in a way that was nowhere near pleasant. To his inquiring look, she muttered, "I'm fine now." But she wasn't. Not by a long shot. Draco didn't look convinced, but she couldn't be bothered with caring at the moment. If she could have, she would have shuddered out of her own skin just to escape this night.

Undeterred, Draco moved closer to her, and she felt the brush of his hand against hers. Pansy glanced down and realized that he was attempting to twine his fingers with hers. She snapped her hand back as if his touch burned her, and she folded her arms securely over her chest, staring hard at the wall. She didn't have to see it to know that his expression was a combination of surprise and hurt. What exactly was he expecting from her right then? Comfort? Did he really expect her to comfort him? Draco could drown in the Great Lake for all she cared at that moment.

"Pansy?" he said in a voice that was going for soft, but she heard the undercurrent of frustration.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, for a moment forgetting that they were standing directly outside of Dumbledore's office. "You knew," she said.

Not missing her meaning, Draco's expression immediately hardened. "Don't," he said sharply.

She turned her glare back to the wall, and after a moment, she heard him sigh. "Pas ici," he amended quietly. Not here. Pansy looked at him, but said nothing. The silence stretched between them until Draco finally had enough.

"Let's go," he said, suddenly all business again.

Together, they trudged down the steps. The rest of their motley crew was waiting for them at the bottom. Well, for Draco, anyway. They were all staring at him, but he brushed by them and kept walking, suddenly seeming to be in just as much of a hurry to put some space between them and that office as she was.

Blaise quickly caught up with him. "Where do you think they stashed Bulstrode?" she said in sotto voice, clearly struggling to match his stride.

"Nowhere," he replied in kind. "Where are they going to hide her?"

He had a point.

When they reached their room, Pansy wasn't surprised to see that the room was a disaster area. Clothes and sheets were strewn together in the middle of the room. Drawers were hanging open in the bureaus, and it looked as if Filch had actually overturned some of Alyssa's cosmetic jars. There were lipsticks and such that had rolled onto the floor beneath her vanity.

She heard outraged noises behind her as she moved further into the room, but she didn't turn around to see the looks on their faces. Pansy had her own horror to deal with.

She immediately noticed that her trunk was missing from where she had left it on the floor. Another glance around the room didn't yield its location, and she began to suspect that Filch must have confiscated it. Unfortunately, she could see that her little box of memos that Draco had given her was also gone. She figured that with enough perseverance, Filch would get both of them open. Her cheeks burned with mortification at the thought of Filch reading her private thoughts and going through her personal things. There was a reason why she kept those things locked away. Aside from her paints, that trunk also carried some particularly sweet letters from Draco that he had sent over the years. However angry she was with him, she didn't know what she'd do if those were destroyed. There were also photographs and the rare, praised assignment from Snape-- as praising as Snape ever was. That one-- that one-- quiz on which she had scored a half-point more than Granger. She'd known that Snape was going to pull a trick question about jobberknoll feathers, because she'd seen a phial of them on his desk in his rooms the night before.

"I'm going to file an official complaint," Alyssa announced, holding up a coat that had both of the pockets ripped out.

"To who?" Pansy said tiredly. "Filch is just going to say that he was working on Dumbledore's orders, and Dumbledore is going to say that we were stealing things in order to perform dark magic. Which we were," she added.

"Shut up!" Blaise hissed. "Filch was in here! He probably planted all kinds of devices in here to spy on us." She lifted one of her disheveled bed sheets as if she expected to find such a device hidden beneath the comforter.

Unconcerned, Pansy sank onto her own ruffled bed and buried her face in her hands.

"Well, she's not here," Raquel said darkly, "but her stuff still is." She kicked at an open trunk, and the sound of wood scraping against wood made Pansy grind her teeth in annoyance. Apparently, Filch had indiscriminately searched through Millicent's stuff as well. There should have been some comfort there, but there really wasn't.

"Draco said--" Alyssa started.

"Malfoy doesn't know a bloody thing!" Raquel cried angrily. It wasn't necessarily a supportable remark at that particular moment-- Draco seemed to know quite a bit that the rest of them didn't-- but Pansy empathized with her frustration.

"If they were going to move Bulstrode to another room, then they would have taken her stuff," Alyssa pointed out.

"They better move her to another room," Raquel muttered as she gathered her things from the floor. "Bulstrode is going to wish that she had never been born." The sentiment was clearly shared around the room if everyone's expressions were anything to go by.

Pansy looked at her own things on the floor, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her. It was so late that it must have been morning already. She wanted to collapse onto her bed and never get up again, but she feared that if she laid down now then she would see nothing but Snape's face behind her eyelids.

Instead, she reached down and grabbed her towel up from the floor. Without a word, she left her roommates to deal with the mess and headed for the shower room. Curfews be damned.

Dazed, she walked slowly, with her arms and legs moving sluggishly as if through molasses. Everything still seemed surreal, and the exhaustion pulled her deeper with each step. Her footfalls rose in echoes behind her. She was awake, but her brain was shutting down, creating the illusion of sleeping while not actually being asleep. There were too many thoughts and too many questions swirling around up there for her to cope with. She could really use the relaxing downpour of a shower.

She was just entering a shower stall when she heard it.

A whimper?

Pansy immediately back-peddled. She glanced around in search of the source. Only silence met her ears. She frowned, wondering if she had imagined it.

No. There it was again. This time, it was accompanied by a scuffling noise, and Pansy whipped her head around in time to see the quick movement of a shoe disappearing back into one of the stalls. She slowly edged closer.

"Millicent?" she tried.

The noises ceased again, but Pansy imagined that she could still hear the sound of Bulstrode's heart pounding louder. It had to be Bulstrode. She pushed at the door, but it was locked from the inside. Not surprising. Pansy pulled her wand out of her robes. She performed a quick, "Alohomora," and gently pushed the door open.

A pair of wide eyes stared up into hers. She looked terrified, like a mouse that had suddenly been grievously engorged. Millicent's mouth fell open and closed a few times like she was trying to get in enough air to actually speak.

"Are you hiding in here?" Pansy asked, thinking that the larger girl was in real danger of actually quaking in terror. It was something of a bizarre sight.

"I... I didn't mean to," she finally stammered out.

"Bulstrode--"

"It just happened!"

Pansy knelt in front of her as a placating gesture. "Millicent, you need to calm down."

If anything, she began to shake more. "The others--"

"Don't worry about them," she cut in. "It's okay."

"That's what Dumbledore said," she murmured. "But he didn't--"

"He was right," Pansy interrupted again. "I'm not going to let them hurt you."

Millicent stared at her for a long time before she began to visibly relax. "You won't let Blaise skin me? Malfoy--"

"You don't have to worry about them," she said. She held out her hand and smiled reassuringly. "Just look at you. Come on out of there." What a ridiculous place to hide from them-- their own bathroom.

"But--"

"Trust me. I know you must have been afraid. Look, we obviously weren't expelled or else I wouldn't be here talking to you. Come on. I'll explain on the way back."

Millicent gnawed nervously at her lower lip, but the look in her eyes was starting to appear hopeful. "You aren't angry with me?"

"No. I understand why you did what you did. We were all afraid. I was a moment away from doing exactly what you did, myself. It's okay."

Millicent took a shaky breath, as if to steady herself, and then she tentatively reached out to take Pansy's still-outstretched hand. She seemed emboldened at the thought of some support. "Okay."

Pansy helped her to stand, and then she backed out of the stall so that Millicent could follow her. "Honestly. Hiding in a shower stall. You're as bad as Moaning Myrtle."

"They're going to kill me," Millicent bemoaned, heading for the door.

"They won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because they'll be too late."

Millicent had the supreme disadvantage of being too slow to process those words, because before she could fully turn around, Pansy had her wand out. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Millicent's body immediately froze up and fell over with a dull thud, sounding like a hunk of wood hitting the floor. Pansy moved so that she was standing over her. She watched impassively for a moment as Millicent began making odd squealing noises. The haze in her brain was cracking and inadvertently releasing a horrible buzzing that poured into her ears. Pansy's vision seemed to be tinged with red as she glared down at her prone roommate.

"You stupid cow," she said coldly. "Just happened, did it? More like you went running straight to Dumbledore the first second you could."

Millicent's eyelids blinked rapidly, and Pansy sneered down at her. "Care to speak, do you? Well, that's a real shame, Old Girl, because I'm not really in the mood to listen to any more of your stutterings. If you'd had your way, then I'd be on my way to Azkaban right now, wouldn't I?"

All of her fear and hate from the past few hours projected like missiles towards Bulstrode. She didn't realize what she was going to do until her heel was already pressing down on Millicent's bared throat. The other girl's eyes bulged at the sudden pressure.

"You could have ended my life with that little stunt. I would have spent the rest of my life in a cell." The very thought of the terrifying, dark place of her imagination made her heel press down a little harder. Millicent emitted choked, gurgling noises in response. They made Pansy angrier. Was she afraid for her life right then? Maybe like Pansy had been not so very long ago when Dumbledore and Snape stepped out of the darkness and into their midst in the Forbidden Forest?

Something cold slithered across her gut. Snape. The look on his face as he'd stood behind Dumbledore and not behind them... She had probably lost him forever from this. Millicent's fault.

"Whom did you think you were going to score points with?" she asked. "The headmaster? He doesn't give two shits about you beyond how much he can use you to get at the rest of us. Oh, no? Not Dumbledore? Okay, then how about Snape? You think that by discrediting us, you'll be his little pet? Fat chance, Bulstrode. I know it wasn't dear old Daddy that you were thinking of, because he's going to be the first one to turn you inside out when he hears about this." She gave a harsh laugh. "Oh, I can see that got a reaction. Afraid, are you? Good."

Millicent was beginning to turn a funny shade of puce. Pansy was distantly aware of the fact that she should be feeling worried about that, but her foot didn't come off of the other girl's throat. Her anger had given bloom to black spots at the edges of her vision. The furious buzzing was blocking out all logic from reaching her brain. She just knew that she wanted to punish Bulstrode. She had been so afraid...

Millicent's eyes, the only mobile part of her body, started to roll back into her head. Pansy began to shake as her impulses warred within her. A black voice in the back of her head was whispering that Bulstrode would deserve it if she kept pressing her heel down until her throat popped like an over-ripe cherry. She wouldn't be able to use those eager vocal cords then, would she? Her eyes narrowed, and her foot pressed...

The sound of the door opening barely registered in her ears, but the surprised noises from the doorway made her head snap up in response. Blaise and Raquel were standing there, staring at Pansy's foot on Millicent's neck, with shocked expressions on their faces. Their surprise quickly morphed into disturbing smiles as the two girls slunk forward so that they were also hovering above Bulstrode.

"Well, there you are," Raquel said cheerfully. "We were just wondering about you."

"Hiding out like the proper rat, I see." Blaise said.

Millicent's eyes flew between them, wider and more terrified than before. Pansy was distantly annoyed with their additional presences, but she was more annoyed that pesky logic was beginning to break through the other noises.

"Harder, Pansy," Blaise hissed. "Show her what happens to traitors like her."

Pansy frowned as Blaise's fanatical glee planted some discomfiture in her mind. Raquel only made it worse when she took out her own wand with a mad look in her eye. A spark of horror at what she was doing finally ignited and began to grow. The voice suddenly erupted out with the realization that if she didn't remove her foot, she was going to kill Millicent Bulstrode.

With a gasp of horror, Pansy reared back so that she collided with the wall behind her. She immediately lifted the spell, despite Blaise's disgruntled, "Parkinson!"

Millicent didn't move. For one terrifying second, Pansy thought that she had killed her. Then, Millicent let out a wheeze. The wheeze shook her entire body and turned into a series of hacking coughs in between giant gulps of air. She rolled onto her side and clutched desperately at her chest. Pansy watched her with a rising sense of nausea. She couldn't believe that she had actually...

"You see what you've done, Bulstrode?" Raquel said. "You've gone and unhinged even Parkinson. Your precious defender."

Pansy had never considered herself to be Millicent's defender. All she knew was that the look bordering admiration that Raquel was giving her was exacerbating the horror she was feeling.

"Who knew that you had it in you?" Blaise said with what sounded like grudging respect. Pansy had to assume that Blaise was talking to her, though she was staring raptly at Millicent. Though, they hadn't known that Millicent was capable of this. If they had, then everything would have been very different. They all should have seen this coming. None of this should have been a surprise.

Millicent remained hunched over, but she raised her head enough to catch Pansy's eye. Her gaze was still glazed from the oxygen deprivation, but it was clear enough that she was able to catch the accusation being projected her way. She was about to avert her eyes when she suddenly realized that Millicent was mouthing something to her. What the--? No. She couldn't have read that right. Bulstrode didn't... She didn't... Pansy's heart sank. She couldn't know!

But Bulstrode mouthed the name again, and Pansy couldn't deny that it looked suspiciously like she was saying, "Dean."

Blaise's voice brought her back to the issue at hand. "How long have you been talking to Dumbledore?" she demanded.

Millicent gave her a startled look.

Blaise looked angrier than Pansy had ever seen her, with the obvious exception of that tantrum she threw at her own birthday party when she turned nine. "Well?"

"Oh, don't bother talking yet," Raquel said, clearly unconcerned by the lack of forthcoming information. "It'll be more fun if we have to torture it out of you."

Millicent turned her alarmed look back to Pansy, and this time, there the name she was mouthing was unmistakable. She had to hope that Blaise and Raquel thought that she was just trying and failing to speak.

"Get out," she said suddenly.

Surprised, Blaise and Raquel's heads swiveled around to look at her.

"Excuse me?" Blaise said flatly.

"You heard me," Pansy said, finally moving away from the wall. "I want to talk to Bulstrode. Alone."

She wasn't surprised by their hesitance to take her seriously. Blaise looked between them suspiciously. "You're not going to help her skive out of this, are you?"

Pansy's glare was blistering. "Are you calling me a traitor, too, Zabini?"

Blaise scowled at her. She didn't have much to go on after walking in on what she had just moments before. "No. But why--?"

"Bulstrode seems to have something to tell me, if my lip-reading is up to scratch."

Millicent's eyes near bugged out of her head as if she couldn't believe that Pansy was risking this. She couldn't believe it either, but she was.

"What does she have on you?" Blaise asked dryly.

"I assume that part comes after you leave," she said.

"I'm not leaving just because--"

"Zabini!" Pansy tugged her close enough to whisper, "If she's willing to spill her guts this way, then it's not going to kill you to go along with it!" Blaise pursed her lips.

"What are you two whispering about over there?" Raquel said impatiently.

Pansy ignored her and kept her gaze trained on Blaise, silently willing her to obey. "Wait on the other side of the door. Just in case she tries to pull something."

This was make or break. Whether she realized it or not, Blaise had the power to completely destroy Pansy just by refusing to leave the room. No one ever had an easier method for bringing down an adversary. If she stayed, then Millicent would give her the ammunition that Zabini had been waiting for. Hell, she had probably been waiting their entire friendship for something like this. It should be a sweet victory for her. Pansy would try not to feel too bitter about it, because she would have done the same thing in her place. Right?

But apparently her friend was going to have to wait for another opportunity to bring her down, because Blaise was suddenly groaning in a way that told Pansy she had won. She did her best not to give an audible gasp of relief.

"C'mon," Blaise said to Raquel, tugging at her arm. Raquel looked appropriately flabbergasted as Blaise pulled her out of the room. After the door slammed shut, she could hear the loud protests.

Wasting no time, Pansy rounded on her. "What do you think you're--?"

Millicent suddenly lurched forward towards her fallen wand, and Pansy instinctively kicked at her hands as they reached for it. Millicent drew them back with a cry of pain. She glared up at her as Pansy crossed in front of her to grab up the wand.

"Now, you made me do that," she said, feeling her rage bubbling back to the surface. "I dare you to try it again."

Her voice was scratchy and raw as she croaked out, "You tried to kill me!" She had the gall to sound surprised.

"Shut up, Bulstrode."

Her command was ignored as the other girl struggled up onto her knees. "You... tried... to kill me." This time, the surprise was laced with unmistakable reproach.

"I told you to shut up!" Pansy yelled. "You deserve worse for what you did!"

"What... I did?"

"You do not betray your family, Bulstrode. Rule #1. Everyone from the top down to the dimmest block of wood knows that about our house." She was ranting, with words flowing out of her mouth without any kind of moderating force. "Without that loyalty, we're nothing! Nothing, Bulstrode! We're just the scapegoats for the rest of the school to kick at whenever they're feeling either frustrated or bored with their own roles! Without the loyalty, then it isn't about choice. It's just--"

"It was never about choice!" Millicent shouted, startling Pansy out of her diatribe. It must have hurt to stretch her vocal cords like that after the ordeal they were just put through, but it didn't stop her. "No one ever asked me! And you're lecturing me about loyalty? You?"

The temperature of the room fell even further by a few degrees. "What," she said dangerously, gripping her wand tighter, "is that supposed to mean?"

"I saw you," Millicent hissed, "with Thomas."

The floor threatened to fall out from under her, and Pansy blanched. She stared hard at Millicent. "You didn't see anything, you little traitor."

"You're the traitor!" Millicent shot back. "Or the hypocrite, at any rate. All those times when I've had the mick taken out of me over Finch-Fletchley, and you were snogging Dean Thomas!"

Pansy flinched at the loud echo of Millicent's voice. She glanced nervously at the door as if Blaise might pop out from behind it, yelling "Ah-ha!"

"You've got some nerve," she seethed. "I never took the piss out of you over your pathetic and very unrequited crush on Finch-Fletchley. I defended you!"

Millicent scoffed. "Oh, please. Do you want a medal for every half-hearted attempt at human decency?"

Who was this person, and where was all of this venom coming from? "You ungrateful--"

"Does Malfoy know about you and Thomas?" she rushed forward. "Does he know that someone actually rivals him for hypocrisy in this house?"

"You don't get to talk about Draco. You lost the right when you betrayed him the second he gave you a chance."

"A chance to become a murderer!" she cried. The way her eyes widened afterward suggested that she hadn't expected to say those words aloud. But she had.

Pansy stared at her in dismay. "Are you completely mental? All you had to do was get--"

"Did you even look at that list?"

"Yes! In case you've forgotten, I had to cover your arse a few hours ago!"

Millicent waved that off, desperation tainting her movements. "But did you really look at what he wanted me to get for him?"

"For us, Bulstrode," she said impatiently. For Him. "And what are you getting at?"

"Those things-- They were for a spell to kill someone! We're talking about the Dark Lord! What else could we be doing?"

And Pansy was silly enough to desire enlightenment on what had been going through her pint-sized brain. "Bulstrode, you moron! We weren't going to kill anyone! That's not what the spell was. You almost got us killed, and it was all due to you jumping to stupid conclusions." She growled in frustration, feeling the need to throttle her again. "And it's convenient that you remember now that it was for the Dark Lord, seeing as how you didn't seem to be particularly concerned with him when you were sabotaging us."

"I'm not a murderer," Millicent said sullenly, as if Pansy had tried to convince her of otherwise.

This was really getting to be too much for her. She felt as if she were bashing her head against a brick wall. "We weren't going to kill anyone!" she cried.

"How do you--?"

"Because he told me!"

It was Millicent's turn to look disgusted. "Malfoy told you what we were going to do? And you believed him?"

"Don't be thick," she snapped. "There was no way that he could have tricked us into killing someone. And it doesn't even matter, because it's looking like there was never a task to begin with. It was a test, Bulstrode."

Millicent was starting to look nervous. "A... a test?"

"Yeah. A loyalty test," she said pointedly. It didn't matter that Pansy was only speculating on Draco's motives, because the results were the same no matter what he intended.

Millicent abruptly paled, and Pansy experienced a rush of satisfaction. "You exposed yourself to Dumbledore for nothing, and you proved yourself useless in both loyalty and competency. Congratulations."

She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, God..."

Pansy couldn't afford to feel any sympathy for her. Not anymore. "Daddy will be proud," she added spitefully. She leaned close enough to whisper, "And if you ever so much as breathe a word about Dean to anyone, then you can consider the girls unleashed. I can't be responsible for what'll happen to you."

With that, she left Millicent trembling on the floor, pulling the door shut behind her. Before she had even a second to process what had just occurred, she met Blaise and Raquel's eager stares. Out of one mess and into another.

"Well? What did she have on you?" Blaise inquired, arms folded.

"Nothing," she lied. "The crazy bat was lying. She just wanted to get me alone, because she thought that I'd help her."

"After you tried to off her?" Raquel said dubiously. This really wasn't the appropriate time for her to grow a brain.

"Be quiet and listen to me. From now on," she said, "no one discusses anything-- I mean nothing-- of any significance or relevance in front of Bulstrode. I know that it can be hard to remember that she's there sometimes." She gave a pointed look at Raquel. "However, everyone is going to have to be more aware in the future. I don't want Bulstrode knowing so much as what toothpaste you use on a day when we have to deal with anything from..." She trailed off significantly. "You get me?"

Raquel nodded agreeably, but Blaise just rolled her eyes. "Bulstrode's the newest persona non grata. We get it. And?"

"And what?" Pansy asked irritably.

"What are we going to do about Bulstrode?"

"Do as in...?"

"Yeah," she said with a significant look passing between her and Raquel.

Pansy sighed, finally understanding. "Nothing. She's been dealt with. Just make sure that she stays out of our business from now on."

"But--"

"Look, do you want to set off Dumbledore's bells, Zabini? Because they're going to be waiting for us to do something stupid like that."

"Bulstrode doesn't get to just walk away from this," Raquel said angrily.

"No," Pansy allowed. "But not here."

"Where, then?" Blaise said sarcastically. "Any specific place that you had in mind?"

Pansy actually had several ideas, but her patience with this entire situation was exhausted. "Zabini," she said through clenched teeth. "Briggs. Bulstrode is off-limits! No one touches her. End of story." She brushed past them and continued down the hall, her shower forgotten. A few drops of water weren't worth it.

Before she turned a corner, she heard Blaise mutter something to Raquel that sounded suspiciously like, "We'll see."

* * *

The small, ornate clock on her nightstand claimed that it was only half-past three, but Pansy felt certain that it was lying to her.

The quiet of the room did nothing to soothe the roaring of her mind. She tried pressing her pillow over her face, but that only served to hinder the-- apparently essential-- task of breathing. Around her, Pansy could hear her roommates moving restlessly in their own beds. Hardly a surprise. How could anyone expect them to sleep? Pansy didn't expect to ever sleep again. What was the point, when her nightmares were just as present during the waking hours? Snape...

She sighed and sat up. She knew what she was going to do, but she had been putting it off in the hope that sleep would claim her instead. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen.

She felt their eyes on her as she left the room, but no one stopped her. Pansy knew that they were awake, but she kept up the pretense and closed the door softly behind her. The frigid air did nothing kind for her, and her fingers tingled with cold as they clutched her wand. Pansy's slippers made slapping noises against the stone floor as she made her way across the common room and up to the seventh year boy's dorm.

The door proved to be locked. She wasn't surprised, considering the extreme breach of privacy they had all just suffered. However, it didn't serve her purposes at the moment. She banged her fist against the wood, calling, "Open the door!"

After a pause, Theodore obliged, looking annoyed. "What are you--?" His question was cut off as she brushed past him.

The boys weren't even attempting to sleep. The lights were on, and only Goyle was actually in his bed. He and Crabbe were clearly surprised by her impromptu entrance. Wide-eyed, Goyle quickly pulled the sheet up over his bare chest.

Draco was lying on top of his duvet, still clothed. He sat up at her entrance, frowning. Holding his stare, she crossed the room and climbed up onto the edge of his bed.

Theodore closed the door behind her and followed Pansy over to Draco's corner of the room. "What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Bugger off," she said, jerking the curtains of Draco's bed in front of his face. She ignored the unflattering name that Theodore called her and pulled the curtains all the way around his bed. The silencing spell blocked out anything else that he might have said.

"Well, that was dramatic," Draco said, raising an eyebrow. "Marching over here like that. Didn't even have time to put on a robe?"

Pansy's mouth formed a thin line. Her pajamas were long-sleeved and flannel. She didn't need a robe. "Believe it or not, I actually had other things on my mind," she said flatly.

"So important that you had to come over here right now? Funny, because I was under the impression that you were giving me the silent treatment."

"I may very well," she said, edging closer. "But I just wanted to get a few things straight first."

"And that would... be... Oh." His words trailed off, and Draco's eyes widened as Pansy suddenly crawled over him. Without any of the timidity she would have once had, she straddled his hips and stared down at him with a cold expression. After a moment's hesitation, Draco propped himself up on his elbows.

"Well, this is familiar," Draco said, voice gone low and husky. She assumed that he was referring to their confrontation in the library. Of course, he could have been referring to.... anyone, really. She tensed when one of his hands dropped onto her flannel-clad thigh. She watched as his fingers traced a seemingly lazy pattern over the fabric, and Pansy did her damnedest not to respond. He didn't deserve it.

Draco leaned forward, and she could feel his breath against her mouth. Despite their temporary privacy, his voice was a low murmur as he said, "You're not about to tell me that you snogged another Mudblood, are you?"

Pansy couldn't even muster up the mocking retort that she knew would be appropriate about now. Instead, she pressed her wand against his throat and enjoyed seeing his eyes widen. "No, Draco," she said shakily. "That's not what I wanted to tell you."

His hand came off her leg, and she felt a grim sort of relief. Draco cautiously leaned back against the bed, eyeing her wand as it followed his movement. "What" he said slowly, "do you think you're doing?" She had expected more anger and indignation, but he really sounded more curious than anything else.

"Shut up," she snapped. The madness from earlier was making a reappearance, and she wanted nothing more than for the angry buzzing to go away. However, she wanted answers more. "Shut up or so help me, I'll give you such a permanent set of boils that a saw wouldn't remove them."

Draco stilled completely beneath her, but she thought she saw a glimmer of that anger she wanted.

"Tu le savais," she said. You knew. "I don't know how, but you knew that Millicent was going to betray us. Didn't you?"

Draco took his time in answering. He glanced between her face and the wand, his expression impassive. The thought of him not taking her seriously, when she was already feeling stretched to the point of snapping, made her press her wand deeper into his throat. He made a choking noise, and she shuddered, thinking of Millicent. She faltered just long enough, so that before she knew what was happening, Draco's arm came up in a flash. She gasped as he knocked her wand right out of her hand. "Oi!" She went to grab for it, but Draco abruptly gripped her hips and flipped them over so that Pansy's back hit the bed. The air whooshed out of her lungs as his weight came down on her. She lashed out at him, but he easily caught her wrists, effectively trapping her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Draco hissed, face pressed close enough to hers so that his fury rolled over her like a desert wave. His hands squeezed her wrists so tightly that she could feel the bones shifting unnaturally. She bit her lip against making a noise of pain.

Pansy had to take several deep, deep, patience-inducing breaths. This scenario was beginning to get old real fast. "Get... off," she said emphatically, barely restraining her temper from becoming the tempestuous whirlwind that she knew she was capable of.

"Don't think so," Draco said, his face more likely flushed with anger than actual exertion. And he did look angry. She was once again reminded of his barely-contained rage in the library. The fierce glaciers he called eyes speared her in place as successfully as if he had used an actual spear. Merde.

"You pull a wand on me? On me? Do you really think that I need this right now?" he demanded, releasing her arms so that he could grip her shoulders and shake her. "Do you?" She blinked owl-like at him, too intrigued with her new revelation to bother feeling indignant about the jostling.

Why, was that a hint of hysteria that she detected in his voice? Was Draco closer to cracking than he let on? Was it wrong to feel as relieved as she did to see an actual emotion out for display? The world was falling down around them, and the one person she had always been able to count on had been replaced by a marble statue that only cared enough for her to want to control her. Was it any wonder that she was spiraling out of control? Where was her anchor?

Pansy smacked his hands away and regarded him with a scowl. "I don't care about what you need anymore. And why should I? You obviously don't care about what I need, because I needed you to be honest with me. All you had to do was tell me the truth about what we were going to be doing, and you couldn't even do that."

Draco frowned down at her as his eyes roved her face, apparently searching for something. He must not have found whatever he was looking for, because his frown deepened. He spoke slowly to her, as if to a child. "I did not, nor have I ever, lied to you. When are you going to get that through your thick head, Parkinson?"

"Just don't go running off," he'd said. Well, Pansy had never been more tempted to do so. Just cut her losses and go. Run straight to Dean Thomas. That's what she should do. It would serve Draco right.

Maybe the extremely long and emotionally draining night was finally taking its toll on her, because Pansy suddenly felt an irrational urge to cry as the cold hand of despair crept up on her. Or maybe she was just getting really tired of being let down. She took another deep breath to ensure that her voice wouldn't break. "Draco, you're lying to me now," she said quietly.

Looking down at her, Draco's face softened. She was too exhausted to hide her inner turmoil, and he was Draco. She had never been good at hiding things from him. She just wished that it went both ways. Apparently, all it took to trick her was to slam her into doors. One good crash, and it was suddenly, "Yes, Draco. Of course we're raising the dead, Draco. Of course I'll help Bulstrode, Draco. Whatever you say, Draco." It would probably be giving her too much credit to think that the impact had temporarily muddled her brain.

Sighing, he shifted his weight over so that he was lying beside her instead of on top of her. He gave her a knowing look and tugged at a strand of her hair. "Are you all right?"

The answer was a resounding no. Pansy choked down her self-loathing and turned her head to meet his gaze head-on. "Admit it," she demanded. "Admit that you knew what Bulstrode was going to do."

Draco dropped his eyes to the strand of her hair that he was twining around his finger, as he appeared to think about his answer. Pansy waited, hoping that she would get a straight answer for once. Releasing her hair, Draco finally groaned and ran a hand over his face. "She was a loose-canon. I had to be sure."

Pansy closed her eyes and released a long breath. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her anger was threatening to rejuvenate at the thought of all the trouble she went to in order to cover Bulstrode's arse.

Draco didn't answer her. When she glanced at him, his jaw was tight and he was staring at something beyond her that only he could see. She was tempted to snap her fingers in front of his face in order to regain his attention, but he spoke before she had the chance. "I had to be sure," he repeated.

Pansy was confused until the realization hit her like a pile of bricks. She felt her throat go dry. "You weren't just testing Bulstrode," she said, horrified. "You were testing me. You don't trust me." They weren't questions. Her heart felt like it was snapping in half. It was one thing for Blaise to be suspicious of her, but Draco? Her best friend? Her soul mate? She suddenly couldn't stand their close proximity anymore, so she sat up and scooted away from him, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I don't believe this." She was going to be sick.

"What do you expect?" he said defensively, arms flailing. "I need you now more than ever, and suddenly, you're lying to me and running off with Mudbloods--"

"Stop making it out like I'm betraying you or something!" she yelled, frustrated beyond belief. "I'm done defending myself to you! You don't want to be told what to do? Well, neither do I. So, you can just stop it. I mean... Shit, Draco. Do you even realize that we've done nothing but argue lately?"

"Whose fault is that?"

Yours, yours, yours, she thought. "How did we get like this?" She buried her face in her knees, and Draco must have thought she was crying, because even his silence felt awkward.

"Are you...? Err..."

"I'm not crying, you insensitive toad," she muttered, raising her head to glare at him. Draco looked relieved, but the expression dissipated as the words erupted from her mouth like they were trying to escape. "I just hate that you feel like you have to test what we have, and I hate that I don't know when I'll be able to trust you again. Do you have any idea how scared I was in Dumbledore's office? I have you to thank for that. You put us in there, Draco. For no reason. I don't think you even realize... I just..." She had to look away, because the emotion was taking over her voice, and there were real tears gathering in her vision. "Quelquefois, je te déteste vraiment." Sometimes, I really hate you.

She heard him sigh, and there was the sound of rustling as he scooted over to her. His arm came over her shoulders. She stiffened until Draco tenderly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "So melodramatic," he whispered.

Pansy said nothing, so Draco tugged her down with him until she ended up with her head resting on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her hair. Pansy couldn't help the full-body shudder that moved through her. This was exactly where she wanted to be, but the situation was so messed up. She clutched his shirt between her fingers and tried to will the reassurance to come from the mere smell and feel of him. It didn't work, but his body warmth reminded her of how cold the dungeons got around the twilight hours.

When he spoke, she could feel the vibrations in his throat. "I'll tell you something true."

"I don't believe you," she said sadly.

Draco's head shifted, and she didn't have to see it to know that he was scowling down at her. "Well, you should, because I'm not telling anybody else."

Pansy had heard that before, so she said nothing. Seeming frustrated by her lack of apparent faith, he pushed her back so that he could look into her eyes. The new position hurt her neck, so she sighed and lifted herself up onto her elbows. "What?"

"Pansy, I didn't lie to you about what we're doing. I just neglected to mention that all of the ingredients are already at Malfoy Manor, waiting for us."

Her face slackened with surprise. "Wait... What?"

He smirked at her. "We're still raising the dead, Babe."

Pansy sagged back down to his chest, too surprised to respond. There hadn't been time or sanity enough for her to really think through the implications of performing a task like that. Perhaps the one good thing that could have come out of this would have been learning that they weren't really expected to do anything for the Dark Lord. She still couldn't wrap her brain around it, and maybe she didn't really want to. Her heart was thumping harder inside her chest, and Draco must have felt it, because his arms tightened around her.

"We'll still have the chance to prove ourselves over the holidays," he said, not noticing when she tensed up. "You don't have to worry about anything. Everything's going to be fine. As long as we're together, everything's going to work out exactly as we've planned." She wondered if he was even talking to her anymore.

Pansy felt far from reassured. Her brain kept switching tracks on her, and her initial indignation felt frozen. There were about a thousand questions swirling in her brain, and she probably didn't want the answers to any of them.

Seeing no other option, she clung to Draco for dear life and tried not to think about it.

* * *

Pansy snuck back into her own dorm a few hours later, and she stared up at the ceiling of her bed until the twilight shadows began to creep up the walls. This had been the longest night of her life.

When it was undeniably morning, her roommates began to vacate their beds in a synchronized way, suggesting that they hadn't been any more successful than she had been at sleeping. It was still too early to get ready for the day, so they silently began to gather their individual belongings from the floor. Where had all the hours come from? By a tacit agreement, the girls had decided not to bother attempting to right the room the night before. They had all been too exhausted, too shaken up, and too angry to be properly efficient.

There were many gloomy looks exchanged as they dressed, and it could have been her imagination, but it seemed to her that everyone was moving extra slowly. She wondered if her roommates were dreading the upcoming day as much as she was. If she could have gotten away with it, then she would have just stayed in bed.

Millicent never came back to the dorm, but Pansy wasn't really surprised. She was probably still cowering somewhere. It didn't really matter. She couldn't hide forever.

Breakfast promised to be uneventful. Pansy kept her gaze firmly trained away from the staff table, and none of the other students seemed to be aware that anything strange had occurred the night before. Not even Potter or his lackeys, who always seemed to have their noses in everything that wasn't any of their business, appeared to have any idea. For that, Pansy was relieved.

The younger Slytherins were getting used to the odd behavior from their leaders, and she was kind of relieved about that, too. However, she wondered how long it would be before they finally got fed up enough to move forward with their own factions. After all, wasn't that what happened with her own year? She wasn't terribly worried about the current sixth years, considering that the strongest personality probably belonged to Belinda Oakley, the halfwit tart. No political threat there. Though, she'd need to remember to pay better attention to the fifth years. How old had Draco been when she'd started to notice that wherever he was sitting somehow became the center of the table?

Two school owls brought the instructions for their detention, with one parchment for Draco and one for Pansy. After some comparison, she realized that the instructions to report to Filch were identical. There was the obvious implication that they were supposed to share the information with their roommates, and Pansy had to wonder if this was Dumbledore's own cracked way of recognizing them as the heads of their individual blocs. Would recognition like that from him be a good thing or a bad thing? She didn't know.

Things took an interesting twist somewhere in between Pansy's eggs and Blaise's cruel jibe about Pansy needing to avoid further consumption of jams. It turned out that they didn't have to wait long for Millicent's reappearance. The call of food was enough to bring her out of hiding. She came through the doors long after everyone else and scurried to the far end of the Slytherin table where the first years were sitting.

Pansy was too busy feeling grateful that she didn't have to be in a cramped Potions classroom with Snape that day to pay her much mind. However, there was at least one other person without the same distractions. Millicent must have turned her back for just long enough, or else she made the mistake of eating something that was passed to her, because the resulting explosion from her end of the table ended up coating all of the first years as well as some neighboring Ravenclaws at the next table. By the time the smoke cleared and the gunk all over the students' faces registered, Millicent was screaming. There was a commotion, and Snape's robe brushed by her as he flew down from the staff table. Pansy shivered at the brief contact, but she didn't even look over to see what had happened. Instead, she rubbed at her tired eyes and went back to her breakfast.

It was officially open season.

* * *

They were scrubbing floors. Without magic.

"I cannot believe this," Blaise seethed, speaking for all of them. She dunked her rotting sponge into the gray water with a wince. It shouldn't have been surprising when Filch didn't spare them any of his good supplies. Sweaty strands of blonde hair were stuck to Blaise's forehead, and she looked as miserable as any street urchin. Pansy had to duck her head to hide her smile, feeling slightly better about her own unkempt appearance. She couldn't bring herself to be too downtrodden, considering what the alternatives could have been. Scrubbing floors didn't even compare to a sentence in Azkaban. Although, the lack of gloves was rather conspicuous.

"And putting us next to Gryffindor Tower," she continued to rant. "Sadistic." So far, three little Gryffindors had come upon them on their way to their common room. They seemed shocked at first, but then came the inevitable amusement at seeing two notable Slytherins on the ground like pathetic slaves. Though, the definite highlight of Pansy's day had to be seeing Blaise hiss and scatter them like spooked pigeons.

"At least Bulstrode got detention, too. That almost makes it worth it."

"Can't argue that," Pansy muttered as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn piece of grim that had probably been dragged in by some Mudblood. A sort of strange, poetic justice? "But notice that she's not up here with us. They probably have her doing something cushy like dusting the books in the library."

An odd, little smile played at Blaise's face before she ducked her head. "Actually, they put her in the dungeons."

Surprised, Pansy glanced up. "How do you know?"

Blaise shrugged, still smiling in a way that could only be called smug. "I have my sources."

Pansy tried to keep herself expressionless, but her hand gripped her sponge so hard that all of the gray matter emptied out. "That so?" she said, forced-casual. Since when did Zabini have "sources" that she didn't know about?

"Aw. Don't look so glum, chum," Blaise patronized, with all of her teeth on view in a grin that must have hurt. "I think we can assume that Bulstrode's getting hers as we speak." She actually had the nerve to pat Pansy on the head with her free hand, which she immediately batted away.

"Keep your grimy hands to yourself!"

Blaise rolled her eyes and returned to her scrubbing. "Please. You have plenty of gunk in your hair already."

Pansy glared at her, resisting the urge to fix her hair due to equally nasty fingers. She had to assume that Blaise was referring to the Sleakeazy gel that Pansy depended on like Draco relied on his multitude of sycophantic mirrors. "How is Bulstrode 'getting hers,' Zabini?"

"Let's just say that I have it on good authority that some of the lower years are going to be making her task more... difficult than it might otherwise be."

Pansy pulled the bucket over to herself. "Paid them, did you?" she said dully.

"I think you're underestimating our housemates," Blaise said. Something in her tone made Pansy glance up at her, but Blaise's face no longer revealed anything other than annoyance at the tenacity of the scum to stay on the floor. She sighed and sat up. "This sucks."

"Could be worse," Pansy said. "We could be stuck scrubbing the outside of Hagrid's hut like Draco and Theodore."

Blaise's eyes brightened. "This is true."

They shared a grin, until they were abruptly interrupted by the presence of a third party.

"Pansy?"

The smile froze on her face as her stomach abruptly sank. There was something inevitable about this. Somehow, she wouldn't be surprised if this was part of Dumbledore's prescribed punishment. Pansy couldn't look up, so she was stuck staring into Blaise's face until she managed to wrench her stare down to her sponge. Why, why did it have to be him?

"Keep walking, Mudblood," Blaise said grumpily.

Dean ignored her, staring down at Pansy. "I heard you were out here. I wanted to see for myself."

Pansy silently cursed gossiping Gryffindors everywhere. Her skin prickled uncomfortably under his gaze, and having Blaise look worse than she did didn't seem like enough anymore. The urge to self-consciously fix her hair was suddenly stronger.

"Get your jollies where you can," Blaise said sweetly, "because we all know that a certain popular ride isn't giving them to you anymore."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Mind yourself, Zabini," Dean said coldly. He shuffled in an uncertain manner for a moment before he said, "So, are you just going to ignore me?"

Pansy inwardly sighed. He forced her to do this. "You heard her," she muttered. "Keep walking."

The silence following her words was thick with tension, but she steadfastly kept her gaze down as she scrubbed. She heard Dean snort, and his feet finally started to back away in her peripheral vision. "Right. I'll do that," he said bitterly. Pansy's heart ached a little. He started to walk away, but he paused long enough to say, "Oh, and Zabini? You missed a spot."

"Cheeky bugger," she said, but it seemed like more of an afterthought. She was staring at Pansy with a calculating look.

"What?" she said defensively.

"Since when are we on a first name basis with the likes of Dean Thomas?"

Okay...

Memo to self: Stop Taking People's Intelligence for Granted.

Pansy shrugged uncomfortably. "We're not. Thomas is just experiencing delusions of friendship because we're working on that project together."

Blaise raised a dubious eyebrow at her. "Really? That's interesting, because you don't see Granger and I being all buddy-buddy."

"Did we look buddy-buddy just now, Zabini?" Pansy demanded impatiently, throwing down her sponge. She ignored the creaks and pains in her legs as she stood up from the hard stone.

"No need to get so defensive," Blaise said, looking far from offended. "Where are you going?"

"To get some better sponges from Filch," she lied, trying her best not to run down the corridor and give herself away. She made it as far as around the corner before she broke and started to run. He was already down several flights of stairs before she finally located him.

"Dean, wait!" she called. She couldn't be sure if he heard her or not, because he didn't stop. It was hard to run down stairs without breaking her neck, but she was willing to try if he would just slow down.

Thankfully, Dean left the staircases and started down a seemingly random corridor. Pansy hurried after him, and she was finally able to get close enough so that she wouldn't have to shout. "Dean!" she hissed, trying not to draw any unwanted attention. "Dean!" He still wasn't responding, even though there was no way that he couldn't hear her. She finally gave up trying to be quiet and yelled, "Thomas!" There wasn't anyone else around anyway. "Will you just stop?"

He gave an incredulous snort without turning around or stopping. Pansy was jogging to keep up with him, and she was starting to pant with exertion.

"This is bloody ridiculous," she gasped, pulling along side him.

"So, now you want to talk to me?" he snarked. "Aren't you worried that Malfoy or Zabini will see us together?"

"Just stop for five seconds!" She couldn't keep this up forever.

"Sorry, Parkinson, but my time just became extremely valuable. You'll have to make an appointment."

Well, that was quite enough. Pansy's foot abruptly shot out and caught on Dean's ankle. He made a squeak of surprise as he fell forward. His hands outstretched to catch himself, but he suffered from his own speed and tumbled forward gracelessly. He collided against the wall with a muffled cry. Pansy stood over him, gasping for breath, as she waited for him to recover. Dean finally raised his head and stared at her, looking dumbfounded.

"You tripped me."

"I'm sorry, but you were being unreasonable."

Dean blinked at her. "Do you always resort to physical violence when you don't get your way?" She could tell that he still meant to be angry, but a hint of admiration made its way into his voice. Pansy tried not to smile. He'd obviously forgotten when she'd broken his nose with that stupid Muggle ball.

"If given no other choice," she said pointedly.

"Well, what do you want, then?" he asked, returning to a more surly state.

Pansy opened her mouth and then closed it, finding herself at something of a loss. Now that she had his full attention, she was unsure of what she wanted to say. "Um..."

Dean gave her a disbelieving look. "You did have a reason for tripping me, right?"

"Of course I did," she said quickly. "I just... Well, I just wanted to tell you that... Um..." She flushed, feeling like a fool.

"Wow. This is so awkward that you must be attempting to apologize," he said, his mouth twitching rebelliously.

She frowned, annoyed. "Look, I just wanted to say that Draco had no right to pull... what he did." There were other things that she must have intended to say, but that was the only thing that came immediately to mind.

Even the tiniest bit of amusement evaporated from Dean's face at the mention of Draco. "Ah, yes. Malfoy," he said flatly. "That reminds me. You lied to me."

Pansy was surprised. Had she? She couldn't think of any outright lies that she had ever told him. "I haven't lied to you," she said somewhat uncertainly. It was always possible...

Dean grunted and got to his feet with some aid from the wall. "You told me that you weren't with Malfoy."

Pansy had to hold back her cringe. If only she had a knut for every time someone accused her of that. "Dean, I'm not."

His face clouded with anger. "What do you take me for?"

"Calm down," she said nervously, glancing around to make sure they were still alone.

"Why should I? You've been playing me for a fool, Pansy!"

"You've been playing yourself for one," she said unkindly. "I don't know what's been running through your head, but--"

Dean threw up his hands in frustration. "Stop acting like this is all one-sided! Pansy, you kissed me."

Bloody Dean. Growling with irritation, she grabbed him by the sleeve and hauled him over to the nearest door and shoved him inside. Thankfully, the classroom was empty, because she would have had some awkward explaining to do if there were a class in session. She locked the door and turned to face him.

"Do you ever think before you open your big mouth?" she asked, exasperated. He couldn't just go around yelling incriminations like that.

He gave her a baleful look. "Do you ever speak without consulting Malfoy first?"

Pansy swallowed down her hurt, because she was more concerned with the way that Dean was looking at her than with his actual words. "I'm not his girlfriend," she said quietly.

Dean didn't look like he believed her, and she rolled her eyes. "I'm not."

"Then what was with the possessive act?" he demanded, folding his arms over his chest.

How to even begin to explain that? Normally, she wouldn't even bother. "Look, you have to understand that Draco and I... Well... We have this kind of... close friendship," she said lamely. "You could say that he was just being protective."

"Except that it would be a lie?"

Pansy's patience was officially gone. "Bloody hell, Dean! I don't have to justify my friendships to you. I just wanted to apologize for the way he acted and to say that it wasn't personal."

"You keep saying that, Pansy, but everything that involves you and me is going to be personal now."

Shaking her head, she took a step backward. "It can't be anymore," she said sadly. The stakes just seemed to climb higher and higher. "I am sorry, and I just wanted to tell you that."

Dean's eyes were the size of saucers. "That's it? Malfoy is all that you're sorry for? And now you're just going to cut and run?" He started looking around in a crazed manner and even glanced under one of the desks. "Are we on some kind of reality show? Are you putting me on, or do you actually believe the things that you say?"

She glared at him. "You know I don't know what that is!"

Dean crossed the small room and invaded her personal space. She tried to edge away, but her back collided with the door. "You're not sorry for the way you just treated me in front of your friend? Or about the way that you stood by and let Malfoy slash into me? None of that strikes you as something you should feel contrite about?"

"No," she said, glaring defiantly up into his eyes. "All of those things were your fault, because you walked right into them. You can't pull that shite with Zabini and Malfoy and expect me to clean up for you. You have no idea what it's like for me on a regular day without you coming around and making things harder!"

Dean gave up on his righteous anger, probably finding it fruitless. To her surprise, he took her hands in his and gave her an imploring look. "Pansy, I don't understand why you let them dictate how you behave. You're so strong otherwise. You don't take shite from anyone else."

Pansy's hands tingled from the intimate, skin-to-skin contact, but she was once again at a loss for words. He thought she was strong? If she was so strong, then what was she doing here? With him?

Feeling a twinge of sadness, Pansy removed her hands from his and gently pushed him back. "I didn't say that this was one-sided," she said softly, "but Draco was right about one thing. Whatever this is, it has to end."

Dean's face fell, but she couldn't feel guilty when she was finally doing something right. "Why?" he asked, as if they hadn't just been yelling at each other.

Pansy sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, willing away the inevitable headache that this was all bringing on. Being so close to him made her confused, so she moved around him to the other side of the room. "Dean, I just can't be in a relationship right now. Things are... complicated."

"How are they complicated?" he said stubbornly.

"They just are!" she burst out. "I just can't have a boyfriend right now, okay?" And it definitely can't be you, she didn't say.

Dean sighed and ran a weary hand over his face. He looked like he still wanted to argue with her, but he lacked the energy. Pansy leaned back against one of the desks, and she traced her fingers over the woodprint so that she wouldn't have to stare directly at him anymore. The silence stretched to the point of being awkward, but neither one of them made a move to leave.

When Dean finally broke the silence, he sounded defeated. "You don't want a boyfriend. Fine." Pansy opened her mouth-- to make a denial or an affirmation--and then closed it again. There wasn't any point.

"But how about a friend? A real one."

Pansy gaped at him. "You want to be my friend?"

Dean flushed at her incredulous tone, but he nodded like the brave Gryffindor he was.

"Friend," she repeated, finding the word maladroit in her mouth. "As in tea parties and more of that football game?" She looked him up and down appraisingly. "I don't think we're in a position to swap clothes."

"Why not?" he said hopefully, edging closer. "I still have two-hundred and five bones for you to break. Or you could come back to Art Club." She made a face, and he quickly amended, "If you wanted to."

Pansy had to smile, despite herself. "You really are glutton for punishment, Thomas."

"Probably," he admitted.

She was really at a loss. What he was suggesting was ridiculous. Pansy didn't have time for friends, and she couldn't even imagine what having a friend like Dean Thomas would entail.

"I don't know," she said uncertainly.

Smiling, Dean leaned against the desk beside her. His sleeve brushed against hers, and she swallowed. "Well, let's give it a try, shall we? What do you want to talk about?"

"What?" she asked, confused both by his words and his sudden proximity.

"Well, friends don't snog, so they tend to speak to each other to pass the time." He gave her a teasing smile. "Or so I've heard."

"Oh," she said, brow furrowed. "Well, I don't want to do that."

Dean smacked his forehead. "Why is everything so hard with you?"

"Why do you keep asking that?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Because the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result," he muttered.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Cute."

"Think so?" he said, his gaze warm.

She groaned and slid down the row of desks to put some space between them. "None of that."

Dean shrugged. "Can I write to you over the break? I promise my letters will be completely flirt-free."

Pansy didn't believe him, but she still considered it, because she wanted to think about it, even though she recognized it for an impossibility. Even as she temporarily indulged herself, a thread of fear was seeping into the illusion. She saw in her mind's eye the consequences of someone finding out that he was writing to her. It couldn't happen. What would her father say? What if someone else was paying attention? She didn't know about that, and she didn't want to find out the hard way. Or any way at all...

"No," she said sadly. "You can't write to me."

Dean pouted in a way that would have been cute in any other situation. "Why not?"

She only looked at him, and his expression hardened in realization. He averted his gaze to somewhere over her shoulder, and he shook his head in what was most likely disgust. Pansy cringed slightly, but her frustration warred with her disappointment. What exactly did Dean expect of her? It wasn't her fault. There was nothing she could do about their situation. Why didn't he see that?

"So, I guess meeting your parents is out?" he said with a bitter smile.

She shuddered. "You're not being funny."

"No, but then, I'm not feeling very funny right now."

His eyes shifted back to hers, and Pansy's chest tightened at what she saw reflected there. She dropped her own gaze to the floor, and she heard Dean sigh.

"Is it always going to be like this? Hiding in empty classrooms and dark corridors? Having to sneak around whenever I want to talk to you?"

Pansy had no answer for him. Or else she just couldn't bear to tell him the truth. He was the one that wanted to try for something impossible. She told him that it wasn't going to work.

The silence stretched again between them, and she waited for him to admit defeat and leave. What he wanted wasn't ever going to happen. Idealistic notions weren't going to stand up against what they were facing, and she wasn't fooling herself about any just-friends notion. He shouldn't either.

Dean was going to leave. He had to. She told herself that she wouldn't be disappointed. It would be a stark relief to have all of this over with. He couldn't comprehend it in its entirety, but she could. She didn't want to be dealing with this. There were so many other things to take precedence over self-stirred teenage drama.

Dean finally did move, but it wasn't towards the door. He slid down the desks until he was once again beside her. She frowned when he lightly bumped her arm.

"Can I at least wish you an early Happy Christmas?" he said, smiling ruefully.

He wasn't leaving. He was actually going to put up with this. The emotion that rose within her couldn't be described as either disappointment or relief. Bloody Thomas. Pansy took a measuring breath before she said, "You can wish me anything you like." Because if wishes were horses...

She felt the brush of Dean's lips against the shell of her ear.

"Happy Christmas, Pansy."

She shivered and closed her eyes.

* * *