The Undecided Answers

"It's me or him, Pansy. You can't have both."

Pansy Parkinson frowned. She wasn't used to orders. Especially coming from Draco Malfoy.

"But I thought you liked me hurting Potter."

It really made no sense to her. He'd been encouraging it for months and now she had to break it off? It was so fun to mess with Potter's head. He never expected it. He was always so loving, and so sweet . . .

"Ew," she shrieked. Did she really just think that about Harry Potter?

"Why are you 'ew'ing?" Draco raised an eyebrow at her and Pansy stuck her tongue out at him. "That was mature."

"It's all your fault I just thought of Harry Potter as sweet," Pansy sulked.

"You thought . . . of *him* as sweet?" Draco snorted. "You're far worse off than I thought."

"I know," Pansy sighed. She turned her blue eyes towards Draco, faltering slightly. "You really aren't upset with me, are you?" She had a reputation to maintain, especially when it came to Harry Potter, but that didn't mean she really couldn't like Draco.

The amused malice left Draco's eyes and he smiled at her. "I'm not upset with you Pansy. Really, I'm not. Haven't you noticed how . . . well, soft you've been acting lately? Like that thinking Potter was sweet. I don't want you to change. . . . I love you."

Pansy's eyes widened. "You . . . love me?"

Draco's cheeks flushed and he bit his lip. It would have been adorable, if it weren't the fact it was *Draco Malfoy.* ". . . Yeah. I have for a few months. At first, the thing with Potter was fun. It was so amusing to see how he'd react to you. How he'd act like the obedient puppy at your beck and call, how he was so devoted and doting. But now, you're starting to act like him. Little things, mind you. Not teasing the Mudbloods, or taunting the First Year gits. And it scares me. I don't want to lose you, Pansy."

Pansy could only stare, wide-eyed. She had never seen this side of Draco before. Perhaps if she had had some sort of clue, some sort of warning, it wouldn't have been as surprising.

Could she really trust him? She remembered the rule Professor Snape had taught her First Year when Queenie Greengrass had been tricked by one of the older Slytherins.

'Never trust a Slytherin.'

She couldn't answer, couldn't respond. Her mouth wouldn't budge, so she turned and ran. Out of the Common Room, out of the dungeons, all the way ignoring Draco's startled plea of her name.

---

"I need to talk to you, Harry," Pansy announced coolly. Potter looked up, surprised at the interruption. His surprise quickly melted into delight when he found his girlfriend standing in front of him.

"I'll see you later, 'Mione," Harry promised, closing the textbook that sat on the library table in front of him. Hermione Granger scowled at her and Pansy just smirked. How she hated the Mudblood. The Weasel was better, she'd admit. At least he was pure blood, unlike *some* people around here . . .

"Harry," Hermione began, "you shouldn't allow her to control you like this. You have studying to finish! Snogging can wait."

"Oh," Pansy smirked, "you shouldn't worry about that. Harry won't be snogging."

Harry's smile faltered at these words, ". . . Pansy?"

"Just come, we need to talk."

Collecting his books, Harry nodded and they left the library. "Later, 'Mione."

"Harry."

Pansy leaned against the wall outside the wall next to the library door. The hallway was empty and Pansy was suddenly glad.

". . . So, what is this about?" Harry's frown curled slightly. "Did you just say no snogging to get Hermione off your back?"

". . . yes, basically," Pansy forced a bright smile. She grabbed his hand, drawing him closer. "May I kiss you now?"

"Only if I can kiss you back," Harry smiled. He dropped his books to the floor and took a step closer to her. Their lips brushed gently against each other. It was nice. Harry wasn't the *best* kisser, but he wasn't bad, either. Although it was apparent that his talent lay only on the Quidditch field. Perhaps Pansy was biased.

As their lips broke apart, Pansy felt the smile plastered on her face begin to melt. Who *was* she kidding? This relationship with Harry was a sham. How could she ever think of herself with someone like . . . This? This 'perfect' boy who could do no wrong. The one the whole school worshipped.

Who would worship Draco like this?

"So," Harry shifted awkwardly, "would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?"

"It's over."

The words had come out just above a whisper but Pansy could feel her lips curving into a trademark Slytherin smirk. She didn't need a Gryffindor -- all she needed was Draco.

"Why?"

Pansy hated crying. It was a weakness and something to show emotion and the perfect mask would slip just an inch in result. Then Hell would break loose and they'd assume you had a kind heart and were actually only that Bitch because you were taught to act that way. It was agonizing to portray that little lost girl who would attach themselves to the first idiot who decided they could break you from that shell. Molding one's self into a Gryffindor lackey was very tiring and Pansy was sick of it. And now she would be done with it.

For the first time, ever, Pansy would relish in teardrops.

"I thought you were happy with me . . . Did I do something wrong?"

Pansy took a deep breath and began her rehearsed speech. "Oh, no, Harry. It wasn't *you.* It wasn't. I'm just not ready for a commitment." This is where her blue eyes were to fill with tears and would bravely continue on, taking deep, 'calming' breaths. "I really do like you, Harry, and it hurts me so much to do this to you . . ."

"We could make it work," Harry--no--Potter touched the back of her hand. "Take it more slow, if you need time."

Pansy bit her lip and lifted her other hand, wiping away the teardrops. "I don't know, Harry . . . Draco thinks its better if we--"

"What does he have to do with this?"

Pansy inwardly smirked. What a powerful suggestion jealousy could be.

"He thinks I'm getting to close to you," Pansy admitted. Her lips quivered as she continued on, "I . . . I agree with him."

"Why?"

Her doe eyes blinked up at him, "What if . . . if your dating me killed you? The Dark Lord has risen again; you know that, and what if I had to kill you? Or bring you to Lord Voldemort? I think you'd be safer without me."

Ah, the guilt trip. Potter knew it all too well and Pansy was for once glad that Gryffindors were noble righteous prats.

"I . . . I understand, Pansy." Pansy smiled at him, throwing her arms around his neck. Thank God for small miracles that this would be her last time to ever touch him.

Pansy felt his lips brush her cheek and she removed herself quickly from his body. "I guess I'll go, then . . . I am sorry, Harry. I don't want you mad at me."

"I'm not," he assured her. "I'm just sad. Disappointed. Maybe we could continue this someday when I finally rid the world of Voldemort?" It was a halfhearted attempt at conversation and Pansy could clearly see how he was struggling. "Please?"

Pansy nodded, smiling softly at him, and turned away from the Gryffindor. God. Was he really that stupid? Like she'd waste her energy on waiting for *him.*

---

She found him staring at the fireplace in the common room. Despite what most thought, the Slytherin Common Room was actually kept quite warm. The fire was almost always roaring brightly and there usually was someone with mugs of hot chocolate -- the advantages of being friends with older students was learned early on.

"I wouldn't talk to Draco," a voice whispered. Pansy glanced over at the red haired girl who was on her way out of the room. "Something pissed him off earlier." Queenie Greengrass paused, "Are you alright, Pansy? You're face looks puffy and pink . . ."

"I was crying," Pansy explained shortly. Queenie opened her mouth to question why, but decided against it. It was usually pointless to try to get any other information from the Slytherin. She'd learned long ago that you were better off knowing and telling as little as possible.

"Um, goodbye then," Pansy rolled her eyes as the girl quickly left. Pansy turned her attention back to Draco, only to blink in surprise. Millicent Bulstrode was draped on the arm of the green velvet chair. And he was smiling at her, a hand resting on her shoulder. And she was laughing, throwing her head back in a flirting manner, voice sickeningly sweet from what Pansy could make out.

So this was the game.

Pansy knew how to play it. Knew how to play it very well.

"Draco Malfoy," she muttered, "you better watch out."

Parkinson was back. And this meant war.