Forgivable Expectations

Warning: As you know by now, FE is firmly AU after GoF, though certain elements from the succeeding books have been incorporated.

For all of the loyal readers who, even after years of idleness, cared enough to persist in nagging me for an update. Particularly the lovely Bob Jones. This one's for you.

Forgivable Expectations

Chapter 8: The Surest is Cowardice

"There are several good protections against temptations, but the surest is cowardice."

--Mark Twain, Following the Equator.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the midst of the winter holidays, Pansy found herself making the most difficult decision of her life over a plate of lukewarm toast.

Huddled in her favorite quilt, supposedly handmade by her long-since deceased grandmother, she sat perched up on her window ledge beside her plate of toast. She had pushed open the double window panels so that the cold, snow-laced air consensually infiltrated her bedroom. A white blanket had fallen over Westbury, and Pansy felt compelled to invite it inside with her. The atmosphere suited her mood.

Her breath puffed visibly as he stared forlornly across the room at her latest painting, her hands convulsively clutching and releasing the fabric across her knees. The painting was a swirl of tormented purples and blacks with an annoying smidgeon of gold and red in the center.

No surprise: it was Dean. And even through the angry strokes driven by her mood, he still came out smiling. When she contemplated creating an angry Dean, her mind inevitably took her back to their conversation from just before the holidays began. The memory made her stomach knot up, so she gave in to the inevitable and painted a smiling Dean, despite herself. She felt that she captured him fairly well, but therein lied the problem.

Pansy shed the protective warmth of her quilt and the icy draft of the windowsill so that she could move closer to the easel. She took one last moment to appreciate it. Working on this painting had been the only thing to calm the manic depression she had labored under ever since returning home. She stuffed a final slice of toast into her mouth and picked up a brush. Yet another sacrifice to be made.

She was about to smear a streak of black paint over Dean's indomitably cheerful face when her bedroom door abruptly smashed open and she dropped the brush with a start.

Violet Parkinson came flouncing into her daughter's room, bringing with her a cloud of sickly perfume and undesired energy.

"Oh," she said, relaxing slightly. "It's you."

"Oh, it's you," her mother mocked. "Who else were you expecting?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "What do you want?" She shot a nervous glance at the painting.

"It's freezing in here, you silly girl," Violet complained, ignoring her. "Why is the bloody window open?" She didn't wait for a response, instead rushing forward with, "But it's nice to see that you're out of bed at least."

"I've been out of bed for hours." She was surprised to see her mother in her bedroom. They usually reserved their minimal chatter for the dining room or chance encounters in the hallways. Dressed immaculately in heels and tailored robes, she appeared particularly out of place in Pansy's messy, paint-smeared corner of the Parkinson residence. In fact, she appeared even more put-together than usual. What was the occasion?

"In case you hadn't noticed, it's already getting dark." With the advent of winter, the days had grown shorter.

"Oh, well, I must have been confused by the fact that you're still wearing your pajamas." Violet narrowed her eyes disapprovingly, and Pansy ingested that disapproval into an itchy restlessness that made her next retort harsher than it may have been otherwise.

"I guess it's early enough for me to be surprised that you've already emerged from your gin cloud. Special occasion?"

Her mother lost her suspiciously cheerful demeanor instantly, her expression souring, and Pansy almost regretted opening her mouth. "Don't you talk to me like that, Pansy Marie!" she snapped. "I'm your mother, damn it!"

Pansy cringed at the use of the middle name. "Sorry," she muttered. She might have gone too far, but she doubted that any real damage had been done to her mother's not-so-delicate sensibilities.

Proving her right, Violet's feathers quickly unruffled at the apology and her expression sweetened again. She turned her back on Pansy to study her reflection in her daughter's full-length mirror. She beamed when it told her in its high, squeaky voice that she looked "stunning."

"Did you come in here to see my sycophantic mirror, or did you need something else? Or are you just lost?"

"Very amusing, dear," she said absently while fluffing her hair. "For your information, I'm heading out to tea with Caradine Bulstrode. While it was on my mind, I wanted to make sure that you're still playing nice with her daughter."

Playing nice? Pansy could sometimes go days without thinking about it, but then she would turn a corner and all of a sudden she would once again feel the press of her foot upon Millicent's fleshy neck. The fear and the hate, inward and outward, would rise up, and she would have to sit down and force herself to breathe again. "Of course," she lied.

"That's good," Violet said, finally turning back to her. "Because we have to play nice with those insipid cows now that your father's been passed over. Which reminds me. You've been home for almost two weeks now. How come we haven't seen hide nor hair of Draco?"

Pansy's heart gave a painful squeeze. She turned away from her mother, wishing that Violet was still focused on her own reflection rather than her burning face. Hoping to distract her, she grabbed the latest issue of The Daily Prophet from where it was resting on her desk. She held it up so that her mother could see the front page.

Standing before the massive fountain on their front lawn, the Malfoys scowled out at them from their photograph. Their angry expressions were likely due to the fact that the Ministry was busy raiding their manor in the background. Again. Somehow, they managed to still look imperious even when they must have felt humiliated and degraded at having all those Muggle-lovers trolling through their home.

There would be no illegal rituals taking place at Malfoy Manor this holiday. Pansy couldn't even pretend that she wasn't relieved.

Her mother snatched the newspaper from her and skimmed the article with eager eyes. Pansy jumped in surprise when her mother let loose a sudden shriek of a laugh.

"Hah!" she crowed triumphantly. "Narcissa's wearing that bloody unicorn stole she was lording over us at Maybelle's. This is right fantastic."

"It is?"

"Yes, those Malfoys could use being taken down a peg," she said gleefully. She plopped herself onto Pansy's unmade bed, bouncing with excitement like a child. "Let's see Narcissa stick her nose up at us now!"

Pansy refrained from mentioning that Ministry raids had never stopped Narcissa before. She supposed that her mother was still annoyed at being snubbed an invitation to Narcissa's teas. Pansy knew it still bothered her. She might have sympathized with Narcissa's aversion to her mother's company if she didn't feel certain that those teas were really about status rather than for the sake of enjoying each other's company. Caradine Bulstrode was probably the recipient of one of those coveted invitations these days.

The very idea of Violet Parkinson having to humble herself before Millicent's mother made Pansy's fists clench at her sides. She didn't think she could ever prostrate herself at someone's feet as her mother was apparently willing to do. Certainly not for something as inane as tea.

"If you hate the Malfoys so much, then I don't understand why you'd want Draco to visit," she muttered.

"Don't be stupid," Violet said.

She didn't seem inclined to say anything further on the matter, but Pansy felt compelled to push the matter. "I'm serious, Mother."

Violet's stare was blank, but it made Pansy feel naked and exposed. She didn't really want to say what she did next, but it came out unbidden anyway.

"Is it really worth it if it means tying ourselves to the Malfoys?"

Violet's face wrinkled in confusion. "'It'? What is this 'it'? Is what worth it?"

"You know," Pansy said uncomfortably. "Everything."

Abruptly somber, Violet extricated herself from Pansy's sheets and got to her feet. Without meeting her eyes, she smoothed out her robes and took her time in answering. "Are you trying to say," she said finally, "that you don't want to marry Draco anymore?" Her tone spoke a clear warning that it better not be what she was trying to say.

That was a good question, but Pansy didn't really know what she was trying to say or what she wanted her mother to admit. Nonetheless, she sensed somehow that she was running out of opportunities to discuss the course her life would take, and this realization brought on the panic attacks that plagued both her dreams and her waking hours.

"Is that what you're trying to say?" Violet demanded. "Because if it is, you're your cousin Julian--"

"No!" she cried. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair rather to avoid using it to strangle her mother. "That's not it." She couldn't even contemplate Cousin Julian at that moment. The idea of marrying a stranger and living in a foreign country was too bizarre, even for her.

"Then what?" Her mother's patience with her was obviously wearing thin.

How to explain to her mother that she feared becoming her? A woman desperately in love with a man who had little interest in her despite the fact that with his mere presence in her life he had completely skewed her life's path, something unavoidable when considering his own life and certain affiliations.

Who might her mother have been if she had not married Clyde Parkinson? Still, a glance at her mother quelled whatever sympathetic fantasies her imagination might have conjured for her. Looking at Violet, her ridiculous, overly self-involved mother, it was impossible to imagine her as anything but what she was. Pansy supposed there was some comfort in the idea that Violet was unlikely to have been a better parent to any imaginary children she might have had in the could-have-beens.

Pansy's childhood had been lonely, so much so that she could barely remember anything else before meeting Draco. But her relationship with her parents being what it was, she felt relieved that there had been no siblings. Why bring anyone else into this mess?

Still, she sometimes yearned for the confidante a sibling would provide, someone she could trust in a way that was impossible with anyone else in her life. Maybe that yearning was what had initially drawn her in the first place to Draco, another lonely child who seemed to need her just as much as she needed him? Had she created a soul mate simply by wishing for one so badly?

She was so disturbed by the implications of her line of thought that she barely registered her mother pressing past her until she was leaning out the window, shouting, "Hallo, Draco! Come inside! We're upstairs in Pansy's room!"

Before she could think about it, Pansy was already dashing to the window, inadvertently shoving her mother over, to confirm. Sure enough, Draco was waving up at them from the front porch. His broom was resting against the side of the house.

Oh, no, she thought despairingly. What was he doing there? Wait. Had her mother just invited him up to her bedroom? Experiencing a jolt of panic, Pansy leapt forward to grab her cap. Had Draco seen when she stuck her head out the window? No, it happened too quickly. She tugged the cap onto her head as low as possible and tucked up the loose strands of hair up into the cap as best she could.

She paused when she realized that her mother was giving her a smug look that clearly said, See what you get? It made Pansy's blood boil. "Don't."

Violet rolled her eyes and moved to the door. "I'll send him up," she said coyly, as if she hadn't just done that.

Her mind buzzed with panic. Pansy barely had time to locate and throw a sheet over the painting of Dean before Draco breezed into her room with the abruptness of a bucket of cold water over her head. She froze guiltily.

"Your mother's in high spirits," he said, grinning as he unwrapped his long scarf from around his neck. His pale face was pink from the cold. Tufts of his blonde hair peaked out from underneath the ridiculous fur cap she had threatened many a time to burn.

Her throat felt tight just from looking at him, so she dropped her eyes to the floor and saw that the paint from her fallen brush was still splattered on the floor where she'd dropped it. Pansy took the opportunity to grab a rag. She dropped down to the floor and tackled the mess made by her fallen brush. Any excuse not to look at him.

Draco made a face and then started rewrapping his scarf twice as tight around his neck. "It's bloody freezing in here! Why do you have the window open?"

"Paint fumes," she said shortly.

He shook his head in exasperation before crossing the room to pull the shutters shut. "Then why are you painting, you silly bint?"

That was the second time she had been called "silly" in the course of the last ten minutes. Pansy felt like stamping her foot in futile protest. Instead, her scrubbing became furious. It was too soon for this, and she definitely wasn't ready to see him yet. It could have been mere hours ago that he'd...

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her tone as he planted himself in the same spot her mother had just vacated on her bed, making her wish that her room held some furniture other than her bed and the desk chair currently encumbered by paint supplies.

"Why, I'm doing just fine, Pansy, thanks for asking."

Her eyes slid to the fallen newspaper that her mother must have dropped without bothering to pick up. She felt an odd mixture of guilt and exasperation. "I heard about the raid," she admitted reluctantly.

"Bollocks, the lot of it," he sneered. "Ridiculous waste of time. Those incompetent Muggle-lovers will never find anything. They can show up as many times as they like."

Pansy hated to ask, but she felt the question was unavoidable. "What about the spell ingredients for... you know." She refused to say "resurrection spell" even in the privacy of her own bedroom. She had once told Blaise that paranoia implied irrationality, and she wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to secretly slip a spy device into her things. No, not after their last encounter, which had undoubtedly taken years off of her life.

"Safe, of course. I'm hardly stupid enough to just leave them lying about. Like I said, it was a huge waste of time. But those cheeky bastards actually ripped right into our presents! Took them right out from under the tree. They claimed that the presents were fair game under the search warrant. Father was absolutely furious, and Christmas was ruined."

Pansy didn't doubt that. Thankfully, Draco didn't seem particularly upset beyond the understandable indignation about the whole mess, which relieved her. She couldn't be his shoulder of support right now. She could barely stand to look at him, let alone comfort him.

"Oh, that reminds me!" he said, fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a small package. A flick of his wand engorged the package into what turned out to be a gift wrapped in green paper. He tossed the gift to her, and Pansy caught it instinctively. She was bemused by a closer inspection of the gift. It looked as if a child had put it together, with paper tapped together messily and a tiny silver bow topping the tiny absurdity.

"What is this?"

"What do you think? It's your Christmas present, stupid." He seemed embarrassed, and she wondered if he had done the wrapping himself. She stripped the paper off without comment.

It was her memo box. She frowned, feeling strangely unrelieved at having it returned. "Did you steal this back from Filch?"

"No, this is a replacement. I figured you could start filling it back up with all those ridiculous notes you write to yourself."

Pansy didn't know what to say. She didn't get him a present this year.

Draco didn't seem to notice her lack of reaction or reciprocation. Already moving on to his next thought, he whipped from his deflated pocket a folded sheet of parchment and waved it triumphantly before her. "This holiday hasn't been a complete waste. You'd get a kick out of this, Pansy. Here, read it. Patil is finally cracking," he said, unintentionally making a stab into a fresh wound.

Pansy abruptly smacked her rag against the floor, startling Draco into finally realizing that she was down on her knees. "What are you doing down there?"

"What does it look like?" she snapped, rising to her feet. She angrily tossed the rag at her desk chair and barely restrained herself from hurling Draco's gift in a similar manner. "You know, you could have sent this by owl. You didn't have to come over here."

Draco's eyes widened, and Pansy felt her face begin to burn again. But she wouldn't take it back, nor would she apologize. He never should have come. Not after what he did.

Draco slowly stood up from her bed, eyeing her as he might a beast bearing its fangs. "What is with this attitude?" he demanded with barely concealed anger. "I thought I was imagining that you were being a right cow on the train ride home, but you've been ignoring my letters, and you're still being a cow.

And what the bloody hell happened to your head?"

Pansy's hand went involuntarily to her head, and she realized that her scrubbing had loosened her cap. "I cut it," she said shortly. She gave up the ruse and tugged the cap from her head, revealing hastily shorn hair.

Draco looked horrified. "Did you trim it with a rusty knife?"

She glared at him. "Truly, it was sweet of you to visit, but there must be somewhere else you're wanted," she said icily.

Draco was too busy staring in horrified fascination at her hair to bother with her gibe. "Pansy, why did you do that? Have you lost your mind?"

He had unintentionally hit the mark. In the first few days following the incident, she had felt her hold on sanity start to slip. All her dreams for the future felt cracked, and she began to panic. With no one to confide in, the feeling only got worse as she sat alone in her room. At her worst moment, she found herself staring into her mirror, the realization dawning that it had all been for nothing. Nothing she did would ever be enough. And that was when she had reached for the scissors.

Her parents had been mortified, and Pansy didn't blame them. It had been a mad thing to do. She couldn't have explained it if she wanted to, except to say that her world had been shrinking and claustrophobia had set in.

Her bedroom was beginning to feel claustrophobic now.

Pansy suddenly couldn't bear to be in her room anymore, especially not with Draco filling up so much of its space. She snatched her quilt from where it had fallen on the floor and headed for the door. "If that's all you have to say to me, then kindly shove off," she announced as she left the room.

She barely made it halfway down the staircase before Draco came bounding down after her. "Pansy," he said, grabbing her arm. "This is the last time that I'm going to ask. What is your problem?"

Pansy stared up at him, considering. She opened her mouth to say who knew what, but the words died as soon as she remembered that they were standing in the middle of the stairway and that her parents could be anywhere within hearing range.

She sighed, suddenly feeling tired enough to give in at least part way. "I'm going for a walk," she said. She didn't expressly invite him to join her, but she assumed that he would.

Pansy didn't bother with her coat. She trusted her quilt to be enough as she shoved open the heavy front door and headed outside, finally giving herself fully to the chill.

Draco followed.

The white snow crunched beneath their feet as they made their way towards the somber silhouettes of the trees that laid the distance. Beyond those trees laid the Muggle village of Westbury. Any moment and they would hear the bells from the fourteenth-century church that stood at the heart of the town. The bells were the Parkinsons' only true connection to the town, since they never ventured down the hill and the anti-Muggle wards kept the townspeople at bay. She snuck down to the town a few times when she was much younger, but her parents finally caught her. The punishment was severe enough to deter further visits.

Smothered by the soft layer of snow, the world fell quiet beyond her house. The silence would reign until the bells broke through, announcing the new hour. Pansy was still fond of the bells. They made her think of home, even if she didn't particularly enjoy being there. Her parents and the isolation of their home aside, Pansy loved Westbury. She still had no idea why her parents had chosen to move there from the suburb of Manchester that she barely remembered, but she used to privately joke to herself that West Wiltshire was as close to the Malfoys as her parents dared go. Why else would they move there?

She didn't think it was funny anymore.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. The cold worked its way through her body, proving her foolish for only bringing her quilt for protection, and Draco's quiet puffs beside her made thick steam clouds before they evaporated into the air. Pansy was loathed to break their fragile silence, but it was almost as unbearable not speaking as it was otherwise.

"What did you mean when you said that Patil was 'cracking'?" she finally asked. "Did you mean that she's falling in love with you? Is that it?"

Draco was startled by the suddenness of her seemingly random question. He eyed her cautiously before allowing a hint of his smug smile. "Well, since you asked--"

"I didn't ask," she interrupted. "I mean, I did, but I don't want to know."

He frowned. "Then why did you ask?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "It doesn't matter. Maybe I asked because I wanted to tell you that I didn't want to know."

If Draco looked concerned before, then his expression relayed that he was downright questioning her sanity now.

When the bells finally carried up the hill, she stopped Draco with a hand on his arm. He moved to say something, but Pansy shushed him. He was obviously frustrated with her odd behaviors, but he waited as she savored the sounds.

The chorus was all too short, and then silence descended again. Pansy was left wondering how quiet the world would be without muggles in it, if the Dark Lord won. It was almost impossible to imagine, even in the frozen silences of Westbury.

She turned away from the trees and the silence, now fully facing Draco for what could end up being the most important conversation they would ever have. It was the conversation she had been avoiding for years. Her eyes greedily scanned his familiar features as if she might be denied them later, and she was suddenly remembering why she didn't want to see him yet.

Pansy sighed in defeat. "Draco, if I promised to be honest with you, then do you think that you could be honest with me? Could you do that for me?"

He was scanning her face, too, no doubt looking for answers to all of the unspoken questions she had no doubt burdened him with in the last few minutes. "I suppose," he said suspiciously.

"All right." She mentally steeled herself. "Do you really not know why I haven't answered your letters?"

Draco sighed, and Pansy realized that he did know. "Is that what all of this is about?"

She met his gaze without flinching, but she tugged her quilt tighter around her as if she could keep the chill from reaching her heart.

"Pans," he said, smiling. "You know it doesn't--"

"Mean anything? Yeah, I've heard that one before, but it isn't going to cut it this time."

If Draco was surprised at her boldness, then he had nothing on her. She had never forced the issue before. But Pansy had spent weeks more or less alone in her own head with only her paranoid, desolate thoughts for company, and she felt understandably restless and undeniably barmy as a result of it. The status quo no longer seemed bearable.

"Cut it?" he echoed. "What is that supposed to mean?" There was a defensive edge to his tone that Pansy had feared this conversation would bring about.

"Draco, I'm tired of this game that we play. I don't want to play anymore."

She stepped closer and gripped the lapels of his jacket, tugging him nearer. The fear rushed in so quickly that she almost lost her nerve. But one look at his endearingly befuddled expression, and she knew that excuse wasn't going to cut it anymore either. She took a steadying breath and then forged ahead with what they both knew to be true.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy," she whispered into the air between them. The words weren't new, not even between them, but at that particular moment in the snow, beneath the glittering stars, and in the wake of the bells, they felt newborn. If she could have left it at that, then she might have even felt free.

But Draco was gaping at her as if he had never seen a crazier person than her. "I know that," he said uneasily. "You know I--"

"No, please don't that," she pleaded. "I'm not talking about anything we've dealt with before. This isn't those casual conversations about arranged marriages that may or may not happen. I'm in love with you. I've always been in love with you, and it was never because you were the most prestigious or convenient option. You've never been convenient a day in your life, Draco Malfoy, and no amount of prestige would be enough to justify how difficult you are."

"No, don't look at me like that. Because I love you anyway, and I think you know that. Everyone else seems to," she said helplessly. "But it's not enough anymore to be in this by myself. I know your life's ambition is to become your father, but I can't become my mother."

Draco gripped her shoulders and bent his head to meet her eyes entreatingly. "Pansy, where is this coming from? Is this because of the Quidditch match?"

Yes. And no.

"Are you really so insecure? Over Patil?"

Oh, yes. Padma Patil was everything Pansy wasn't. She was effortlessly beautiful, intelligent, kind, and, worst of all, she had somehow managed to procure Draco's attention longer than anyone else ever had. And even if she weren't all of those things, then Pansy still would have felt ridiculous standing there, freezing in her pajamas and her quilt, with her shorn hair, and asking Draco Malfoy to love her. But if he didn't love her now, then he never would. Living on hope hadn't done much for her so far, and if her mother's life was any indication, then it never would. She felt in her bones that this was it, their defining moment.

Pansy could have left it at that. Judging by his expression, she had laid enough on Draco for one day. But she was on a roll, feeding off the high of liberation that came from finally releasing the denial and the lies.

Her voice was threatening to crack. She fought it, wanting to remain strong, but she couldn't keep the vulnerability from showing in her voice. "I couldn't do the rest of it if I didn't know that you loved me," she murmured, finally dropping her eyes from his down to where her fingers clutched his jacket.

"Not the Dark Lord," she continued. "Not any of it. That level of commitment... I don't know how our parents did it, because Merlin knows that I haven't seen them give as much of themselves to anything or anyone else. Maybe it was motivated purely by fear? I don't know. But I can't do it, Draco. Not like them."

But Draco had finally had enough. "That's enough," he said, and his tone brooked no room for argument. He released one of her shoulders so that he could firmly cup her chin and force her to look him in the eye. His gaze was hard. She wondered if it she had earned such a look with her confession of loving him or for her disloyalty to the cause. "You don't realize what you're saying."

Unfortunately, Pansy wasn't finished. They had to deal with everything at once, whether they liked it or not, because all of their issues were hopelessly intertwined. She had already gone too far to stop halfway now.

They were standing so close that Pansy was pressed into him, and they were sharing the same small tuft of air. From far away, they probably seemed to be embracing. But Pansy could feel the tension in his body, and it was far from romantic. If for no other reason, then she was grateful for the proximity because it allowed her to whisper what she said next, rather than to shout it hysterically at his retreating back, which she may very well have done at this point.

"If we're going to do this," she said, "then I'm not going in blind, and I won't let you either." Resigned, Draco released her chin. His hand fell back to her shoulder.

"This task your father gave us? We're not clever or lucky enough to pull it off." Draco jerked at that, and Pansy rushed forward desperately, "No, not even you! We're going to get caught, Draco. Even if it isn't this time, then it will be the next. Eventually, we will get caught. And it won't be a glorious revolution. It will be just us and our prison cells or our dementor's kiss. We can't win." The world had changed since the last war, it didn't belong to the purebloods anymore, and it wouldn't let them win. She'd known it for a long time, but she hadn't been willing to acknowledge the truth because Draco seemed incapable of acknowledging it for himself.

Draco was still holding onto her shoulders, his fingers clenched painfully into her flesh, so when she shook him gently by the lapels for emphasis, she shook them both. "I need you to realize that. I want you to know that I'm doing this with the knowledge that we're going to get caught, and I'm doing it for you. Not for the Dark Lord. For you."

And there it was, the truth. Her message finally delivered, Pansy sagged against him. She let her head fall forehead so that her forehead was pressed into his chest. She felt exhausted, but she waited patiently for Draco to process her words.

When several moments passed by in silence, she lifted her head to see that he was staring somewhere over her head. His whole body was stiff. Pansy lifted a hand with the intention of caressing some of the tension from his mouth, but her touch seemed to wake him from whatever thoughts he had abandoned her for.

Draco practically shoved Pansy away in his haste to disentangle himself from her. Shocked, she stumbled back, her quilt falling from her shoulders to the snow.

She watched helplessly as he retreated several feet and turned his back on her. Everything about his posture told her that he was ready to escape from her and from this conversation. Maybe she had pushed him too far in her need to unload. She waited, feeling immune to further penetration from the cold when it had already won its victory from her. She felt as if she would never be warm again.

Draco rounded on her. "What the hell am I supposed to say to all of that?" he exploded, his arms jerking in spasms against his sides with barely contained frustration.

"Say that you love me," she pleaded, but she pleaded without much hope. Draco's behavior was telling her more than enough. It was funny, but she hadn't realized until this very moment that she was expecting a very different outcome from this conversation. Well, it was funny in a desolating kind of way.

"Say that you'll stop messing around with all of those other girls, and say that you're ready to make a commitment to me. To us. Make it real, Draco." No more empty pantomimes of a relationship.

"You can't just... just... say all of these things! Damn it, Pansy!"

She shrugged, unsure of what else to do.

Draco started pacing back and forth, upsetting the gentle blanket of snow beneath his feet. He shook his head, suddenly looking everywhere but at her. He paused and held out a hand towards her as if he could hold her words at bay, maybe keep her at bay. "And if I'm not?" he asked.

"What?"

Draco finally allowed himself to meet her eyes, his rapid movements stilling. Her breath caught in preparation of what she knew was coming. "What if I'm not ready?"

Pansy's heart sank the rest of the way down past her shoes and into the snow beneath her feet. She lowered her head and focused her gaze on the snow as she battled back the tears. "Then you have to let me go," she whispered.

Draco looked pained. "How do I do that?"

With each word, she felt her heart breaking off into another piece. "You have to stop acting like we're something that we're not," she told him. "No more kissing or touching me. No more talking about getting married. You would have to respect the fact that I wouldn't want to see or speak to you for a while."

She barely restrained a sob. "You would have to leave me alone. You'd have to be a man and accept that I don't belong to you and that it's none of your business who I choose to be with."

Draco's head shot up, and she was surprised to see that he looked furious. "Oh, now I see," he seethed. "This is about Thomas."

Pansy gave a frustrated cry. "No, Draco, you bloody fool! This is about us! Don't you get it? I can't do this anymore. Loving you makes me hate myself!"

Draco's eyes widened. Pansy's hand shot to her mouth, but it was too late to take it back. She tried to apologize, but the words wouldn't come. Maybe because she wasn't truly sorry.

"I see," he said softly.

The tears finally flowed down her cheeks. She picked up her quilt and angrily wiped at them. "I know it's a lot to ask," she said through her muffled snuffles. "So, you think about it, about what I'm asking for and what it means for you. But Draco, if you decide that I'm not what you want, that we're not what you want, then that's it. We're finished. I don't want you to speak to me. Just leave me alone."

She left him there in the snow with her ultimatum as she trotted back to the house.

She didn't look back.

* * *

Two Weeks Ago...

The Quidditch pitch was utterly freezing.

She felt certain that it was absolutely sadistic to have matches in early December when they would be forced to endure ice blocks for bleachers and frost-bitten winds if they wanted to see the last Quidditch match before the holidays. As much as she might have liked to, Pansy could hardly sit this one out when the match was between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.

She enjoyed this particular match-up best. There wasn't the same bitterness that usually followed a match against Gryffindor (well, Potter). Nor was there the admittedly unfair sense of entitlement to a victory over Hufflepuff or the embarrassed indignation that resulted if they didn't get one. No, a match against Ravenclaw somehow felt more balanced. A victory was a victory. A loss was a loss. Each would feel deserved. She doubted the Ravenclaws considered a loss against them to be so trivial, but she didn't care. There were so few things in her life that weren't hampered by constant, cutthroat competition, so she would take her baggage-free entertainment where she could get it. Competition with Ravenclaw felt healthy.

Draco was currently coasting just above their heads. She didn't have a pair of binoculars on hand, but she assumed that his eyes were scouring the pitch for that coveted glint of gold. Since she was already in such an oddly good mood, Pansy even allowed herself to feel somewhat excited for him. This wasn't a match against the seemingly undefeatable Potter. Draco could actually win this one for Slytherin, and Pansy had a strong sense that he would.

She grinned up at him even though he couldn't see her from way above them. Things had been tense between them ever since she had more or less threatened to hex him in his own bed due to his pathological lying and manipulation-- petty things like that. But watching him up in the air, in his natural element, she felt relieved. Draco looked like a normal boy playing his favorite sport and less like a fledgling Death Eater who was going to lead them all to the gallows. Watching him now, she remembered why she fell in love with him in the first place.

"He's spotted it!" someone cried.

Sure enough, Draco was diving, and the Ravenclaw seeker was hot on his tail. They were almost neck in neck as they cut through the air towards the ground. They were dangerously close to collision when Draco abruptly pulled up, his fist held high.

Pansy laughed. He did it!

The stands erupted into a cacophony. Her housemates were on their feet, cheering. Draco did a loop around the pitch. He was grinning.

Still smiling, Pansy stood and leaned forward over the side of the bleachers in preparation for his toss. The two of them had a tradition that they'd kept ever since Draco had joined the Slytherin Quidditch team. When he managed to catch the snitch, he would toss it to her and then she would toss it back. It was a silly, pointless tradition and it probably added fuel to the rumor mill that they were romantically involved, but she didn't care because it was theirs. He had never said as much, but she assumed that it was Draco's way of sharing his victory with her.

"What is he doing?" Alyssa asked suddenly. She was sitting on Pansy's right side, with Blaise to her left, just like always. They were in their usual spot in the front row so that Pansy could reach for the snitch without hindrance.

Alyssa's question brought her gaze back to the sky. Why was Draco ascending to the wrong side of the pitch?

The Ravenclaws were booing him, but Draco stubbornly hovered over the front row where-- Oh. Where Padma was sitting. What he did next sent the noise from the crowd into a frenzy.

Not only did he toss an astonished Padma his captured prize, but he managed to angle himself on his broom so that he could tug Padma forward into a hard kiss. In front of everyone.

Cold, hard shock stabbed into her chest. She vaguely registered the rude boos and catcalls that were exploding from the surrounding stands, juxtaposed with the tense silence that had settled around her. She felt eyes on the back of her neck, and there was a startled noise somewhere directly behind her that sounded suspiciously like Patchouli Baddock.

Pansy couldn't move, not even to reach over and slap Patchouli for having the audacity to feel sorry for her. Her hand wouldn't even clench, still open in her lap in preparation to receive Draco's toss, just like always.

But no. He was still kissing Padma. He was still kissing Padma.

"For Merlin's sake, Parkinson!" Blaise snapped near her ear, her breath hot against Pansy's cheek. "Sit down already. You're embarrassing yourself."

Pansy stared at her blankly. It wasn't until Theodore's piercing laugh rose above the silence of the front row, effortlessly canceling it out, that she finally snapped out of her emotional paralysis. She whipped her head around to glare at Theodore, and her expression must have been frightening because he actually looked startled.

As she sat back in her seat, Pansy felt the blood rushing into her face right alongside the cold rage. She felt feverish with it.

On the other side of the pitch, Padma was running out of the Ravenclaw box, presumably in embarrassment. Pansy wished that she cold run away, too, but she didn't share the luxury of that option. If she ran away now, then she might as well throw herself over the edge of their box and plummet down to her death. Oh, and she wanted to.

Draco seemed unperturbed by Padma's hasty retreat as he lowered his broom to the ground. He was grinning.

"I heard that she's been tutoring him," Blaise said.

But Padma said that she wouldn't tutor him. Pansy was there. She heard her say that. Didn't she?

"I wish he'd tutor me," Belinda Oakley grumbled from her seat behind Pansy.

"There's no point in tutoring the village bicycle," Blaise said loudly, without bothering to turn around. Belinda made a choking noise.

Theodore leaned forward over Raquel's shoulder from his seat behind her. "He's been doing more than tutoring her," he said, leering.

Raquel shoved him off of her. She turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting a row up from Theodore. "Is that true?"

Pansy turned to see their faces as they answered, but Crabbe and Goyle avoided her eyes, looking uncomfortable. Their tacit discomfort was answer enough.

"Oh, cheer up, Pansy," Alyssa entreated as she faced forward again. "It's Malfoy! You know it doesn't mean anything. At least it's not the Gryffindor one!" She sounded rather confused by the whole thing. After all, this was really nothing new-- huge public audience aside. Draco was hardly a saint, and he seemed to enjoy humiliating Pansy, supposing that he bothered to think of her at all. He probably didn't.

"You're wasting your breath, Nott," Raquel said from beside Blaise. "Pansy knows that she's just been humiliated in front of the entire school. Don't you?" She leaned past Blaise and smiled sweetly at Pansy. "After all, everyone thinks they're dating."

"Not anymore," Belinda said, if only to show Blaise that her barb hadn't deterred her shameless eavesdropping. Someone, probably Patchouli, shushed her.

Pansy ignored them all. She couldn't focus on anything at the moment other than the puzzle pieces suddenly slipping into place in her recollection. The boys obviously knew more than she did. She must have been utterly blind to goings-ons lately if Blaise and Theodore both knew more about what Draco was up to than she did. She would have-- should have-- noticed this was happening right under her nose if she hadn't been so distracted by Dean.

But, really, how could she have known? There was no evidence that his relationship with Padma had progressed beyond Draco's undesired flirtations. She smacked him.

But the evidence to the contrary was right in front of her. There must have been hints...

Alyssa tried again. "She ran away, right? That's good, isn't it?"

Pansy was far from assured. How could she be when she had noticed something that Alyssa had apparently missed?

"Honestly, what's the big deal?" Alyssa muttered, obviously frustrated with Pansy's lack of response.

The big deal was that this was Pansy's tradition with him, and everyone knew it. Draco was changing the rules on her, the rules of his own game. He had never intentionally allowed his flirtations with other girls to spread into their relationship before. To suppose that they wouldn't was naïve of him, but there was something to be said for his intentions at least.

The big deal was that Padma, who was nothing like those other girls and who Pansy suspected had a certain level of integrity, hadn't pushed him away.

And Draco hadn't mentioned anything about Padma to her. At all.

This was different.

* * *