Radicals and Rebels

Chapter One: Freedom Suppressed

Disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who had read history, is man's original virtue. It is through disobedience that progress has been made, through disobedience and through rebellion.

- Oscar Wilde

- - -

Pansy glanced around the room in a nonchalant manner. She and Tracey had exchanged partners to keep monotony at a low intensity. Both had attended balls before and neither saw the prospect of dancing and formalities as stimulating. The most exciting time she had during the entirety of the ball had been watching those of the bourgeoisie imitate good manners. Almost all of them had terrible etiquette and didn't conduct themselves well in a setting so familiar to her.

To her surprise, when Pansy first became aware of the pending ball, her mother did not hire a chaperone. She was honestly curious and asked her dorm mates about their thoughts on this new acquisition. Those who understood her questioning (due to their similar status) believed that because the ball was public and for the common people, there was no need for one.

Pansy understood immediately: Freedom.

Freedom to dance with whomever she wanted, to eat whatever she wished, to have fun and laugh loudly.

However, her hopes were shattered when Draco Malfoy asked her to the Yule Ball. He did it so formally and so correct, that she felt as if she hardly knew him. He went out of his way to send a letter to her father, asking permission to escort her.

His behavior seemed so wrong!

When they first entered Hogwarts, it meant a little more freedom for them both. Etiquette and manners were nearly thrown out the door, to be left on the welcoming mat, until Draco's father sent a nasty letter reminding him that good conduct must be observed as Lucius Malfoy was on the Board of Governors.

From then on, Draco and Pansy were careful around the authorities, tip-toeing the boundaries and sending coy smiles their way. But among themselves and in their common room, they rebelled in their own quiet ways. Manners were dismissed and upbringing was forgotten. They became the unconventional and the radicals of their generation. It was thrilling.

Draco's behavior tonight was not. He was acting courteous, chivalrous, and he even held out an arm for her! In the polite society, it was unforgivably rude for her not to take it. She received it begrudgingly.

"Why are you acting like this?" she seethed, as they walked down towards the Great Hall. Pansy paced farther from her friends who walked behind them; she didn't want them to hear the irritation in her voice.

"Like what?" Draco answered, an indulgent smile on his face. He knew it annoyed her.

"So--so polite!"

"Would you rather me be a rude bastard?"

"Well, that is more of your character."

"Pansy," he said warningly.

"I'm just wondering why you're acting as if this were just another formal event. It isn't! We have freedom to enjoy ourselves this time."

She huffed angrily, but as soon as it appeared, it disappeared. Because they were approaching other students, her resentment ebbed away to the hard faced girl they all knew her as.

- - -

The first time Pansy had met Draco was like this:

"What's your name?" he asked snidely.

"What's it to you?" she answered with equal malice.

He looked at her with a semblance of shock, as if he had never been spoken to in that way before. The boy who had forgotten all his manners when he entered the realm of Hogwarts soon melted away. This newfound freedom combined with naivety and youth had been taken too lightly, but seeing the look on this girl's face reminded him of his past demeanor and all too well known behavior. Manners, he remembered, etiquette, he thought. This girl's momentary look confirmed that they were one in the same.

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he said, because he apologized to no one.

She glanced at his outstretched hand, allowing him a moment of hesitation and doubt, because she enjoyed the brief control she held. And just when Draco was about to pull his palm away, she grabbed hold of it.

"Pansy Parkinson."

This was their introduction to one another.

- - -

Their conversation wilted when they passed some Gryffindors and their partners. Why would they let anyone hear of their troubles in public? It was unacceptable. Pansy had fallen in line to her formalities once again. It was just too easy when Draco had already done so.

"You didn't insult any of them," accused Pansy.

"Tonight, it's not my place."

"You don't see any of us with a chaperone."

"That might be the case for you..." started Draco.

With a gasp, Pansy whispered, "Your mother hired one?"

"Shh," he said. "Behind you, to your left."

Pansy glanced up in a flash, pretending to move a lock of hair.

"I only see a Beauxbatons student."

"That's because he looks like a Beauxbatons student. I asked him to be as inconspicuous as possible."

"But," began Pansy desperately, "no one else has a chaperone."

"Not true. I know that Delacour has one, as does Smith of Hufflepuff."

"Well, they're very good at camouflaging," said Pansy frankly.

As much as she knew that Draco needed comfort from his discomforting fact, she knew it couldn't have been worse for him. The little hopes she had of tonight being full of thrill and excitement were stampeded upon thoroughly.

Now as Pansy watched Draco and Tracey dance, she knew that it would only last two dances before he would be by her side to be watched and observed by the perceptive vigil.

Pansy refused a second dance with Blaise Zabini for a run at the refreshments table (and perhaps a run at freedom for a short amount of time). She wondered vaguely if the chaperone would report to her mother, but dashed out the thought at the sight of Harry Potter looking misplaced near the punch bowl.

She smirked. Perhaps tonight's fun could include a little of her usual rebellion.

Sneaking quietly behind him, Pansy picked up a glass of punch and 'accidentally' pushed into his back.

"Excuse me," Harry said automatically, but after seeing her face, his apologetic features dissipated. "Oh, I take that back."

Pansy looked affronted. "Honestly, Potter. On a night like this, you could at least pretend to be civil."

He shifted from one foot to another. "I could."

She stood before him, as if waiting for more banter. But when he didn't say anything, Pansy continued, "What happened to your date?"

"What happened to yours?" he countered, immediately defensive.

"Draco is dancing with Tracey Davis."

With such a social and easy answer, Harry replied, "Parvati decided to dance with some Beauxbatons bloke."

Pansy scanned the crowd rapidly to find that the chaperone was dancing with a Patil twin, very close to Draco. How subtle. She took a sip of her punch.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Pansy asked abruptly.

"Oh, um. Yes."

"Doesn't seem like it."

Harry had no answer for that. The girl wasn't being blatantly rude, but she seemed as if she were really trying to hold conversation with him. He didn't know how to take it, and this Pansy noticed. She took the reins of the conversation.

"Aren't you going to say something?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Something courteous to get the conversation going?"

Harry looked at her blankly.

Pansy inwardly sighed. The middle class's skills on conversation were obviously lacking. "How about, 'Why, the sky is wonderful for tonight with the all twinkling stars!' or 'The band is really quite talented, don't you think?' or even 'Pansy, you look lovely tonight,' but I'm sure that last is pushing the limits of your dialogue."

Clearing his throat, Harry said, "You look...nice this evening. With the pink and the frills."

"Well, that didn't kill you now did it? And it's considered lace." Pansy paused to give him a once-over. "You look halfway decent."

"Thanks?"

"I mean, your hair is tamed and you don't look completely a mess. Why is the Boy Who Lived without a dance partner? I thought you could get anyone.

"I don't understand why so many girls are after you. I'll admit, you look alright if you try but other than that, I don't see the appeal. My best guess is the celebrity status.

"So you left Weasel and Granger to fend for themselves? I saw them out in the hall and they were really going at it. I think this time they'll kill each other.

"Have you tried this punch? It's really tangy."

Pansy was on her third glass, when Harry asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, why is that?"

"If you're fine, then why are you talking to me?"

Refusing another impulse to sigh, Pansy said, "Your manners are impeccable."

"I'm just wondering."

Adding a slur to her tongue, Pansy replied, "I was attempting to connect with the bourgeoisie."

"Are you drunk?" Harry cried indignantly.

"That matters. Did you spike the punch?"

Pansy fingered the collar of this robes absentmindedly. Harry froze on the spot, not knowing what to do.

"No!"

Gathering his shirt tightly in her hand, Pansy pulled him closer.

"Then I'm not."

Pansy pushed him away as roughly as anyone her size could, and waltzed away, as if nothing had occurred.

Her mind was reeling though. That wasn't fun at all.

- - -

Everyone knew who Harry Potter was. Consequently, when Pansy heard that he was on the train, she roamed the halls to see him in person.

Did he have supernatural strength or paranormal magical powers? Was he really all they made him out to be? Was he something great?

Legends were told of him and stories as well. Not all of them were true. Therefore she just had to know for herself.

Pansy wandered the train corridors twice, from one end to another but she couldn't find him.

"They're all lies," she told her companions back in the compartment. "He's not even on the train."

"Oh, but I saw him," one said. "He was in compartment at the very end, sitting next to a red-headed boy with tons of freckles."

When Pansy went back for another look, she did find him, sitting in the compartment with a red-headed boy. He had glasses on, and he was very thin.

What Pansy couldn't understand is how she missed him on her first two searches.

Afterwards, as small boats glided through the still black waters, she realized that it was because he looked so extremely ordinary.

- - -

"Tracey, where's Draco?"

"I saw him dancing with Daphne's younger sister," Tracey replied. She had been sitting next to Blaise and chatting aimlessly, when Pansy intruded. And Pansy was too wound up to care.

"Do you mind if I borrow Blaise for a minute?" Pansy asked.

"Be my guest."

Blaise stood up and said, "I am not a thing to be borrowed. If you want to dance, then ask."

He enjoyed being a chauvinist, and yet, for the most part, they got along splendidly.

"Mr. Zabini, would you care to dance?" Pansy feigned.

"On second thought, the gentleman should be the one to ask."

Scowling, Pansy said, "Oh, come on already!" And she pulled him to the dance floor. "Thanks, Tracey."

"Always the extremist," Blaise commented as if commenting on the weather.

"If you want your way, you have to fight for it, right?"

"When it comes to a dance? No, not really," he replied. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You mean to whom."

"Are you avoiding someone?" said Blaise, looking over her shoulder to where Pansy had walked away from. "Did you have a spat with a Gryffindork? Or maybe you actually did spit on one?"

"I wouldn't be avoiding someone because that would take some effort. Potter is worth none of my effort."

"I see."

"Steer us towards Draco."

"And now your true motives shine clear."

"Please. It isn't as if you minded."

"You're right. I never mind dancing with a beautiful lady."

"You're tactless and tasteless."

"Now, Pansy. That isn't the way a lady should address herself."

"Shut up Blaise."

- - -

Meeting Blaise was easier.

"Mrs. Parkinson, may I present my son Blaise," said Ms. Zabini. Pansy remembered her as beautiful woman in an elegant gown. She stood out among the crowd; it was her wedding after all.

"This is my daughter, Pansy," said her mother.

Pansy extended her hand. "How do you do?"

"I am very glad to meet you," said Blaise, the epitome of chivalry.

"I hear that you will be going to school at Hogwarts in September."

"Yes. Am I wrong to assume that you will be going there as well?"

"No, you are not. I hope to see you then."

"I hope so too. Good-by."

"Good-by."

Under the careful eyes of their mothers, Blaise and Pansy exchanged conversation, like the well-trained children they learned to become and to despise. Of course, none of this mutiny began to show until their slight independence day of September first, when facades were broken and new spirits roamed free.

- - -

They danced and twirled until Blaise had led Pansy a foot away from another swaying couple.

"When the song ends, will you ask Daphne's sister to dance?" asked Pansy.

"Because you so desire to get away from me? How could I say no, Pans?" Blaise added mockingly.

"Blaise, please."

He sighed openly and dramatically. "You owe me."

"Whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I'll hold you to it."

"So long as it's reasonable."

The wicked gleam in his eye was not reassuring. "Of course."

Blaise switched personas in an instant and tapped Draco on the shoulder.

"May I cut in?"

Draco noticed Pansy and nodded, readily joining her in a dance. Blaise and the other girl swirled away to the other side of the dance floor. Pansy was sure that Blaise charmed her completely.

"Draco," Pansy whispered conspiratorially. "Let's run away."

He raised an eyebrow, silently asking her a million questions. Only one was spoken: "Where to?"

"Away from here."

"And how do you suppose we'll get rid of the chaperone?" asked Draco, indicating the swaying couple to his left.

"Give him the slip."

"Yes, because it's that easy."

"Watch me."

- - -

The first time they truly rebelled, the act was juvenile.

They had grown tired of their infantile forms of revolt such as forgetting decorum and becoming uncouth youths. Second year made them feel older, more versed in the vindictive world inside and outside of Hogwarts. They felt almost invincible.

One lunch break, Pansy was sitting with her classmates, saying freely, "I hate Professor Sprout."

"Why's that?" asked Blaise. "She seems competent enough."

"You didn't see? She gave Know-It-All twenty points for speaking without being called on. I had my hand up and Sprout didn't even glance my way."

"I noticed," said Millicent. "But that's the way it goes around here. If you're in Slytherin, you're dirt to them. If you're a Gryffindor, you're gold."

"Well, I hate Professor Sprout, and I hate Granger. She's such a-," Pansy stopped short, hesitant to continue on, but she did so with a vengeance. "She's such a Mudblood!"

The others around Pansy quieted, and Pansy wondered if she had gone too far this time.

From across the table, a few seats away, Draco said boldly, "You're right, Pans. She is a Mudblood."

And suddenly, what she had done was acceptable.

- - -

They were running through the halls recklessly, and laughing wildly. Pansy had led them to the front door of the castle, which opened up to the covered courtyard.

"Out here," Pansy called between breaths of exhilaration.

Draco and Pansy dashed outside where it was cold and snowy. Draco pulled her into a shadowed corner, so that if anyone had decided to take a look outside, they wouldn't be seen.

Together they laughed passionately and outrageously, like they never had before.

As they caught their breath, Draco said to her, "Pansy, you're a genius. Requesting a rock song like that. It was certain that we would be lost in the crowd and lose that ninny in the process."

"I know. Just admit it, I'm brilliant," she said, hanging on the wall for support.

"You are brilliant."

Draco neared and she neared, as if they knew what they were doing. They really had no idea at the time. It sort of just happened, they would say later. The kiss was light and inexperienced, and left them both staring at one another afterwards until Pansy pulled from his grip and ran out into the snow.

She giggled and twirled, allowing snowflakes to assault her open skin.

"I take it back," Draco called. His face held a gigantic grin. "You're insane!"

"Oh, come on!" Pansy tugged the sleeve of his robe, bringing him out in the open. "Let's have fun."

"At least take my jacket," he said, unbuttoning the constraints of the coat.

"No way! I already told you, Draco. Being a gentleman doesn't suit you."

"Who says I'm being a gentleman?" he asked as he threw the jacket at her. It caught her by surprise.

"Prick."

Pansy ignored his antics to open her mouth widely towards the sky.

"You're going to catch a cold," said Draco apprehensively.

"I don't care," Pansy answered, still facing the heavens.

The song in the background was fitting. The band was singing and the melody drifted, like murmurs in the wind, to where they both stood.

Do you remember

We said we'd run

Away together

Holding on to one another

They stayed like this for awhile, until her lips turned blue, and Draco pulled out his wand to whisper warming spells her way.

"Pansy, time to go," he said, wrapping an arm around her.

"I don't want to."

"I know, but we have to go back eventually."

When he said it like that, it was as if it were finalized. They had to go back into society and back into the world that didn't enjoy them being there, back to the four walls that kept them caged and back to the four houses that built barriers.

With obvious reluctance and slow steps, they made it back, back, back.

- - -

Back when Pansy was a small child, she had been close friends with the Patils. They were not of the same status, but all had been privately tutored together under Madame Bloxam to learn the fundamentals of reading, writing, and arithmetic.

One afternoon, Parvati, the more gutsy of the twins, dared Pansy to place a beetle in Madam Bloxam's handbag. Pansy distinctly remembered Padma giggling in the backdrop.

After a fierce mental struggle with herself, Pansy told her friend, "That's impolite! Have you no manners?"

The phrase, though acceptable within the privacy of her family, was taken roughly by Parvati.

"No, of course I don't have any manners," Parvati scowled. "Because I'm not a rich snob like you!"

Parvati had ran off angrily at this point, with Padma hesitantly sprinting after her.

Pansy was left to face a disapproving Madam Bloxam, not knowing exactly how it had come to this.

Years later, when the friendship had been tentatively restored, the girls entered Hogwarts with gleeful smiles and blameless eyes.

When the first test came though, they failed miserably.

Pansy had come to school knowing the Patil twins and distant acquaintances. She had expected them to stick to each other as safe guards against the unknown.

On the first day of classes, Pansy sat in Transfiguration with an empty seat beside her. As soon as Parvati walked through the door chatting with some girls, Pansy searched out to catch her eye.

They looked at each other for a second, perplexed and calculating, and then Parvati turned away to sit on the 'Gryffindor' side of the room.

Parvati Patil had lost Pansy's trust that very moment of betrayal.

- - -

The morning after the Yule Ball, Pansy still felt that little bit of freedom pulsing through her veins.

She woke up smiling and cheerfully sat next to Draco for breakfast. It was unusual that he was alone this morning, however not very many other students were up either.

The peculiarity of his solitude was given reason when Draco cautiously looked from his hands to her eyes. He handed Pansy a letter, signed in the sharp script of Lucius Malfoy.

In silence, Pansy read the callous tones of Mr. Malfoy's reprimands. She finished with not much to say to Draco.

"Mother's upset as well," Draco said in casual restraint.

"At least, there are no mentions of," (Pansy swallowed), "anything else."

"No," he replied. "And there won't be."

Pansy figured that this meant, 'there will never be.'

Again and again, Pansy was forced to see the reality; that they were prisoners of the society and its customs, that to be free of restraints was harder that it ever had been, that being in this cage was where they were to forever remain.

The letter Draco's father had sent served as just another reminder of how little freedom they had.

- - -

There is no such thing as a little freedom.

Either you are all free, or you are not free.

- Walter Cronkite