The Art of Falling

~Pansy~

-The Art of Giving-

While falling, I never thought to catch myself. I always kept my elbows tucked tightly in and my hands clasped close. I preferred scrapes and bruises to a possible broken arm. I know now that unless I locked my elbow and fell hard, my arm would have never broken. But even now, when I fall I still let myself hit the ground.

On a Tuesday last month, I broke a quill in Transfiguration, and I had not brought anymore with me. When McGonagall glanced at my idle hands disapprovingly, the boy on my right slid a quill toward me. The quill was not new, nor was it any special sort of feather. And I know he didn't give the quill to me out of the kindness of his heart, either. He just wanted to keep McGonagall happy, but I still used the old quill for an entire fortnight until it, too, broke.

I should have scorned the gift. I should have asked a fellow Slytherin for an extra utensil, rather than accept one from him... from a blood-traitor. Instead, I returned the favor and bought him a new Eagle Quill from Hogsmeade, and sent it via post.

I don't know why. I don't think I'll ever know why. Perhaps my mother's instructions on never being indebted to anyone were more deeply ingrained in me than either she or I had expected. However, his worn quill hardly justified such a great repayment, even if the quill had been given in Professor "I Hate Slytherin" McGonagall's class.

When the owl dropped the package in his lap, he looked so excited. Even from my table, I could see his eyes grow as he eagerly ripped off the packaging. Potter watched on interestedly, while Granger looked as though she was trying to warn him off. She is such a self-righteous little... but then he opened the package and his delight turned to distinct puzzlement. Now I grinned.

Draco asked me why I was smiling. I answered with some vague comment about clothes and make-up, and he turned away, seemingly completely bored. Weasley was putting the Quill in his bag. Damn. I had wanted to know if he would look at me, if he would realize that I had sent the quill to him in exchange for the one he'd lent me. But if he had looked up, he'd have only seen me talking with Draco. Bloody Malfoy.

In Potions, I was paired up with Parvati Patil, and we were sitting behind Malfoy and Goyle. That day was purely lecture; Snape looked like hell. I wondered what my mother's Lord had been doing. Ron was using my quill, I noticed. And I realized that I wanted to give him more things, I wanted to see his eyes grow big and become confused.

Somewhere inside, this little game thrills me. I am breaking rules and no one knows or suspects. I am sending gifts to the enemy even as I insult his best friends. Draco would make me a pariah, Ron would return everything in pieces, and my mother would lock me away until I could be married---- but that is only if I am caught.

So I decided to buy him more... but what? I do not know him well enough to know his likes and dislikes and I refuse to send a gift that does not fit. Thoughtless gifts are worse than no gifts at all. I start watching him in class, and in the halls, and during Quidditch. I find out that his favorite team is the Cannons, he loves chocolate frog cards, but the candy he eats the most are Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. His owl is the most bloody annoying beast on earth, but he loves him all the same. He is brilliant at chess and terrified of spiders.

During the next Hogsmeade weekend, I bought a small stuffed bear that wore a Cannons shirt. When he received the bear the next day, he grinned widely. I don't know if he likes stuffed animals, but he seemed pleased by the gift all the same. Later in the hall, I heard his sister teasing him about having a secret admirer and he blushed.

He blushed. Because of me! Of course, he doesn't know that it's because of me. He still hates me, but he did like the two gifts I'd sent. He probably even thinks about who the sender might be. I wish he would consider me.

That was when I realized I was falling. I could have stopped there. I could have ceased watching him, stopped keeping track of his smiles and laughs, but I didn't. I never did learn how to catch myself.

The next break was Christmas. He decided to stay behind, so I wrote home to my mother and told her that I was staying as well. Then I wrote my father and asked him to send me a chess set. My father is an eccentric man and utterly useless. However, he loves chess and carries many different boards around with him. He currently resides in the French Quarter in New Orleans. I do not know why he and my mother ever married.

One day before Christmas, I received my father's reply. The chess set he sent was very simple and very Muggle. The note said that it was from the Bauhaus in Germany. Again, my father's help fell short, but I did not have time to get anything else. I wrapped the set in a large box with a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and two chocolate frogs.

He was astounded by the gift. I saw him playing with the Muggle set often throughout the break. I also noticed that he had started to look around and search for the sender, for his admirer.

I wonder what he would say if I told him the truth? If my next package contained a note signed 'Pansy Parkinson'? How angry would he become? What would he do?

I am about to hit the ground, but I can't stop, not now.

It's February and I sent him a new scarf with a note. We are eating breakfast in the Great Hall and the owls should be swooping down at any moment. I cannot eat a bite.

Draco asks if I am all right, but I cannot even muster a response for him. The owls have come and I am waiting for a certain redhead to receive my owl...

~Ron~

-The Art of Receiving-

Ron stopped eating once the owls filled the Great Hall. He watched carefully, trying to decide if any would be for him.

"Looking for more prizes from your secret admirer?" Ginny asked teasingly.

Ron blushed slightly. "I wish I knew who it was," he said.

"Are you sure about that?" Hermione asked, "What if it's someone really foul?"

"It can't be anyone too bad," Ron replied, "And I know for a fact that it isn't some Slytherin bint. No snake would send a Muggle item."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Look, Ron!" Ginny pointed to an owl that was rushing toward the table. "I bet that one is for you."

Ron watched the owl as it approached. It was carrying a small package. Hermione twisted in her seat to look at the owl and then a moment later, turned back as the gift fell into Ron's lap.

"Well, open it!" Ginny urged.

Ron picked up the package. The box was wrapped plainly, just like all the others that had been sent to him. He started to slide his pinky into an overlap, when he noticed that an envelope was attached to the side. He stopped unwrapping and tore off the envelope.

"A note?" Hermione asked.

"Did they write their name?"

Ron tore the end of the envelope and slid out a folded piece of thin parchment. He didn't unfold it.

"Aren't you going to read it?" Ginny asked.

Ron shook his head. "Not yet." He slid the note into a pocket and then picked up the box. "I want to see what this is first. Besides, what if Hermione's right and it IS someone foul?"

"You're scared."

"No, I just don't want to read it right now. I'll do it later when there are less people around."

Ron tore the wrapping paper from the package and opened the box. He lifted out a long, knit scarf. The scarf was dark, deep blue and softer than anything Ron had ever touched before. The letter 'A' was stitched onto the corner in pale silver.

"Avalon," Ginny said quietly, "Well, now you know something else; she's rich."

"Avalon?" Hermione asked.

"It is the best brand of clothing in existence," Ginny replied, "They weave charms into whatever material they use-- no one knows really-- and then knit in even more as they finish. No two Avalon products are the same. Anything Avalon is rare and costly. Many families start saving money the day a girl is born so that she can have an Avalon wedding dress."

Ron draped the scarf over his neck, the two ends hung loosely on either side, and he picked up his books. "I'm going outside," he said, "Don't follow me."

As he left, he passed by Harry, who had steam coming out his ears. "Where are you going?" Harry asked.

Ron pulled the note from his pocket and held it up. "Out to solve a mystery. Hermione and Gin will catch you up to speed." Ron continued walking until he reached the courtyard. The yard was miraculously empty. He sat on a bench and opened the note.

Dear Ron,

Stay warm.

Yours,

Pansy Parkinson

Ron dropped the note and leaned back against the cold bench. He knocked his head back against the bench, angrily. Pansy Parkinson had sent him the scarf and probably everything else, too. Pansy bloody Parkinson!

He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to return anything she'd given him, because everything she'd given had been a perfect gift. She'd gotten him a Cannons teddy bear, even! But he didn't want anything from her. She was a Slytherin!

Ron stared at the note. Pansy Parkinson's signature did not change one iota. He shoved back his hair and sighed. Hermione had been right. It was someone foul. Fantastic. He slid the note back into his pocket and just stared up at the cloudy sky. The scarf must have had a warming charm woven into it, because he wasn't freezing yet. He slid the blue knit material between his fingers and tried to focus. What should he do now?

Should he rip up the note and send it back?
Should he just not say anything and pretend that nothing had happened?
Should he write a note back?
Should he talk to her?

He wanted to keep the gifts, but he didn't want to encourage her. Bloody hell, he had thought he was safe from Slytherins considering gifts that he'd been sent! Surely, he thought, a Snake would have sent something cursed, and would definitely not have sent him anything Muggle.

How could Pansy "Pug" Parkinson, who hung all over Malfoy, be capable of choosing such great presents? Why would she bloody send any presents in the first place? The bint confused the hell out of him, and now he was stuck.

Ron stood up, swung his pack over his shoulder, and left for class. It was a Thursday and he had Transfiguration. He would deal with Parkinson later.

When Ron reached the Transfiguration room, Hermione and Harry were already there. Ron slid into the seat next to Harry, and Hermione twisted around in her own chair to face them.

"So, who is it?" Hermione asked. "Is it someone foul?"

Ron looked up at her and hesitated. He didn't want to tell Hermione that she was right; he hated that she was always unerringly right, and so he lied. "No, no one foul."

"Then why aren't you more excited?" Harry asked. The steam was beginning to taper off and Harry looked much better than he had that morning. "You've been wondering all year about this person. Are you going to go out with them?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well, if she isn't a terrible person, and if she likes you so much as to send gifts, you should at least spend one evening with her," Hermione advised.

Ron closed his eyes. "Hermione, can we just drop the subject?"

"Oh, so it is someone horrid, then?"

"No!" Ron said, leaning forward. "I just don't want to talk about this anymore. Is that a problem?"

Hermione sniffed. "I'm just curious, Ron. No reason to be so sour with me." Harry coughed.

Ron shook his head and looked away. He noticed Pansy by the wall of the classroom. She was staring intently at her textbook; her cheeks tinged a slight pink color.

Ron dropped his head onto his desk. Bloody hell, she'd been there the whole time. Now she would think that he liked her back.

Now what to do?

~Pansy~

-The Art of Waiting-

Everyday I wait for an owl to bring me back all the gifts I had sent him in pieces, and everyday, the owl doesn't arrive. Everyday I also hope that he'll respond in some way, but that also doesn't occur. We're suspended in limbo and it is his turn to make a move.

When I heard him defend me in Transfiguration, I thought that he could possibly like me, but I soon figured out that he just didn't want to prove Granger right. He hasn't even told his friends that I sent him the gifts, yet. I know this because I hear them pester him occasionally.

I wish he would do something. I can't stand this unbearable itchy feeling of not knowing. It's maddening. I occasionally brush past him in the hall, my sleeve slides along his for a moment. He always tenses when I do this and his friends ask him if he is all right. I smirk until he tells them that yes, he is fine. I like making him uncomfortable.

When Draco and I meet the Trio in the halls, I always watch Ron. I wait until he's angry and about to pounce on Draco, until I step in with a cool comment and an underhanded compliment. He always freezes where he is, and gives me a sort of strangled look. Draco congratulates me later. He doesn't understand why I always interfere, but he approves. I don't need his approval, though. The look on Ron's face is enough.

I am still relishing that peculiar shade of puce that Ron's face turned earlier today when I complimented his hair (though it sounded like an insult), while I work on my Charms homework. The library doors open and then close, and now I can hear him and Granger talking. Granger is calling my behavior 'very odd' and she notes that I haven't insulted her in over a week. I wince and write a reminder to myself in the margins of my notes. Then I hear Ron's reply. He tells her to forget about it, that I am just a Slytherin and not worth worrying over. In that one statement, he makes everything I've done seem so silly and pointless. I try to remain calm and stay at my table, but I can't. I don't want to play this game anymore.

~Ron~

-The Art of the Apology-

Ron watched as Pansy Parkinson walked very stiffly out of the library. Hermione frowned and asked if Ron thought she had heard them. Ron chuckled, but the laugh was bitter.

"Of course she did," he said. He stared down at his Charms work, not paying attention to the words and instead pondered whether or not he should go after Pansy. Hermione's frown deepened.

"I don't see why it should bother her, though," Hermione said. "She's heard us say worse to her face."

Ron groaned and stood up. He couldn't just leave her alone. Slytherin or not, she had bought him some of the best gifts he'd ever received and she'd been watching him for the past three weeks. He should have said something sooner. He should have said something right after Transfiguration. Instead, he'd waited and now she was probably outside crying her eyes out or something.

"Ron, where are you going? This Charms paper is due tomorrow!"

"I just need to use the loo." Ron left the library and began searching for Pansy. He didn't have to look too long though. She was standing at a window near the end of the corridor. Her eyes were dry and her face impassive. Ron wondered why she hadn't run farther away, and why she wasn't crying, as most other girls would be doing.

He scratched the back of his neck, and tried to get over the shock of what he was about to do. She watched him coolly in the window's reflection. "Hey Parkinson."

"Heh." she breathed out shortly and looked down, refusing to acknowledge him. Ron took a deep breath.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said in the library. I didn't think you were there, and I was just trying to calm Hermione down, and I didn't know you would overhear. I wouldn't have said anything if I'd known you were in there, too. I--" he paused, a slight hesitation before trudging on, "I didn't mean it."

She looked back up, but didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, alright? Or does that even matter to you?" She said nothing. "Fine, then. I guess I'm just wasting my time." Ron turned around and began walking away. He didn't know why he'd even tried.

"Wait," she said suddenly. Ron waited. "You're forgiven." They both turned around to warily face each other.

Ron smiled. "See, that wasn't so hard, now, was it? What were you working on in the library, anyway?" Pansy pushed away from the windowsill and started walking with him back to the library doors.

"The Charms paper," she answered.

"You, too? Hermione has me hostage until I finish mine. 'It's due tomorrow!' she says." Ron imitated Hermione's high-pitched voice perfectly, and Pansy smiled. "Thanks for the gifts, by the way."

"You're welcome."

"I especially liked the chess board," Ron said, unable to control his voice.

Pansy smiled again. "My father sent that for me. He said it was from the Bauhaus in Germany."

"I know." He had looked up the set design as soon as he could sneak down to the library alone.

"You don't mind that it's a Muggle item?" she asked, her nose wrinkled with distaste. Ron grinned.

"No. In fact, I think it makes the game more interesting. You could see for yourself sometime if you'd like." His mind froze as he tried to work out what he had just asked.

"I think I would like that," Pansy answered before he could offer a retraction and suddenly they were at the library doors. "Send me an owl when you decide when and where."

Ron nodded and she left. When he had re-entered the library and sat back down at the table, Hermione demanded to know just how much time a trip to the loo took. Ron grinned wickedly and began to describe in detail the difficulties one might face. She swatted him with the back of her hand, and banished him from the table.

"Find these books." She commanded, holding out a list.

Ron took the list without complaining. The quest for Hermione's books would give him time to fully absorb the fact that he had just asked Pansy Parkinson out to play chess.

~Pansy~

-The Art of Reflection-

If Draco discovered where I just spent my last hour, he would, first, never believe me, and then he would slaughter Ron Weasley. Ron and I played chess in the kitchens, and I can't think of a time when I've had more fun. Sending him gifts or making him pull faces in the corridors cannot compare with making him laugh, and being made to laugh. I think he was surprised that we could actually get along. We ate chocolate desserts, drank pumpkin juice, and played two chess games. He was right about the game being different on a Muggle board. For one, there are no voices criticizing every move I make.

He is a lot better than I am at the game, and he tried to give me advice during our second game. When I started to do the opposite of whatever he said, he shut up and we just played. We didn't talk very much. I guess we were both afraid that if we started talking, we'd only start insulting each other and arguing. After the second game ended, he said he needed to go study for an upcoming Defense Against the Dark Arts quiz, and so we left.

And now as I lie in bed and stare up at my canopy, I can only think of one thing. I am so glad that I never thought to catch myself while falling.