To Calm a Draco

'"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply, 'they got in on pure talent."'

The words had stung, especially coming from the mouth of a witch who was no better than a common Muggle. Perhaps she had some sort of magical blood, but that didn't mean she was a witch. A Mudblood was the only appropriate term for her.

Who was *she* tell him he had no talent?

Hermione Granger didn't know a thing about him.

What right did SHE have to say that his FATHER bought his spot on the team? Did she not realize what ambition the Slytherin team had? To win? To show the others they were just as good, even if from the House of the Serpent? Why would they sacrifice that to someone who didn't know how to play, or was as bad as a Hufflepuff?

They wouldn't.

And just because *his* father had bought the team new brooms, didn't mean one of the other's parents couldn't have. If it was one thing Slytherins shared, it was powerful and wealthy families. Which meant more money than Draco would ever see in his lifetime within *one* vault.

And he liked it like that. He didn't need his money to prove himself in his own House, even if he liked to flaunt it in the others.

A small piece of uncertainty hung in the back of his mind, though. He tried to shove it away, but now it was there. Burning fiercely. . . . They hadn't exactly backed him up. They'd been quiet, almost like it was a taunt in itself. . . . Had his father bought him this spot?

No, no! They wouldn't. Not even for Lucius Malfoy's son.

He felt a prickling behind his eyes, but he refused to cry. Crying would mean he agreed with the Mudblood. Crying meant he was scared she was right, scared that he *didn't* have talent, scared he *was* being used just for his money . . .

"Draco?" a soft voice interrupted his inner turmoil and he hurriedly brushed away the tears. It was bad enough to show emotion to himself, but he couldn't let someone else see.

He turned around and paused. Pansy Parkinson stared curiously at him. "What do you want, Parkinson?"

"I heard you come in here," she told him, calmly. "Are you alright?"

Draco leaned against the wall and gazed darkly at her. The common room was empty besides the two of them and he mentally berated himself for allowing himself into this position.

"Why do you care?" he sneered. "What business is it of yours?"

Pansy frowned, "Because I care." She took tentative steps up to him, stopping just a few inches from him. She reached a pale hand up to his face, touching the skin where it was still damp. "If nothing is wrong, why are you crying?"

"I wasn't crying," he snapped, jerking his face away. "Just go... away."

Pansy frowned, lips curving into a disapproving line. "Not until you tell me. Is it Granger, again? I heard what she told you today."

Draco raised his eyebrows suspiciously, "How did *you* hear? You weren't there."

Pansy's cheeks tinged, and she didn't respond straight away. Finally, in a low tone, she said, "I followed you and your teammates to watch."

"Spying now, are we?"

"Only when it comes to you," she told him. Her eyes closed for a second, and then she reopened them and stared up with bright blue eyes. "I want to help you. Please, Draco, let me."

"Why should I trust *you*?" he asked. The blonde girl smiled at him and he suddenly felt uneasy. The smile she wore was one he knew all too well. The one that said 'I know something you don't know.'

"Because *I* believe *you.*"

Draco scoffed, "Like that means anything to me."

Pansy smiled. "Alright, I'll explain myself simply. You have talent."

Draco blinked. This was unexpected. Unless she was expecting something in return for her flattery . . .

"I know your father, Draco. We all do. He's stern and wants nothing best for the Malfoy Name. I hardly think he'd even *let* you try out for the team if you were bad, let alone buy the team new brooms. Why would he want you to embarrass yourself or the Family Name if you *were* squib material?"

She was right, of course. The Slytherin team felt the same way, he knew. Until Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts, Slytherin had been the best team in years. It was only dumb luck that *Potter* was on the team.

Draco began to smile, despite himself.

"Thank you," he told her, sincerely. Perhaps he had known that before she had even set foot in the room, but it was nice to have *some*one believe in him. No one ever did. Not even his father said a kind word just to please him at random.

Pansy felt her red cheeks warm again, and she nodded silently, eyes on the ground. He didn't need to thank her. She knew that he was just like anyone else. Insecure when something he was *good* at was questioned.

"Parkinson?" Pansy looked up at the mention of her name and blinked in surprise as her vision was filled with a head of blond hair. Draco brushed his lips against hers, gently. The feeling of his warm lips made her flush all over again, and her head began to spin when he stopped the kiss. It wasn't much, but it was something he could offer her. "I'll let you spy on our next practice," he whispered into her ear. Her eyes brightened and she took a few steps backwards.

Quidditch wasn't the only way to fly with Draco, she vaguely thought as he moved past her. She watched him scoop up his broom and head towards the dorms. Maybe confidence really was all he needed. And all she needed, too.

After one last quick glance at the hallway to the dorm rooms, she turned on her heel and left.

Maybe it was time to visit the Mudblood now. Anyone who upset Draco would pay. And beaver girl *would* pay.

--End.