Pariah

Pariah: Chapter One

The Weasley Situation, the Teeny Incident, and the Chocolate Problem

Ron clambered into the prefect's carriage near a half hour late, owing to the Imminent Disaster which he had helped circumvent by holding Neville Longbottom back from pummeling Crabbe into a nice mushy pâté. He wasn't quite sure, but ever since Fifth Year, Neville had been acting rather strange. Oh well, Ron rationalized, hormones and what not.

He smiled apologetically at Hermione, who was glaring at him as sharply as her frequently polished Head Girl badge, took the last seat available in the compartment, which unfortunately happened to be next to Ernie Macmillan, and then proceeded to shove a steady stream of Chocolate Frogs into his mouth whole.

"And so," Hermione said, obviously aggravated and obviously restraining herself from leaping over several prefects and slapping Ron, who was staring out the window vaguely, "we've decided that instead of making rounds with members of your own Houses, the prefects will be split up." Hermione quickly rattled off the groups of Fifth and Sixth Year prefects, and paused before she announced the Seventh Year groupings.

Ron tried to swallow the half-chewed mass of chocolate in his mouth, but sputtered and commenced to cough. Hermione raised her eyebrows as she turned a page on her clipboard, cleared her voice, and began to read loudly to be heard above the sound of Ron choking.

"Padma Patil and Ernie Macmillan. Draco Malfoy and Hannah Abbot. Hermione Granger and Terry Boot."

Draco took this opportunity to smile wickedly.

"Pansy Parkinson and Ronald Weasley."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, and then coughed, which only served to splatter the person sitting across from him with huge globs of partially digested chocolate. Who just happened to be Pansy Parkinson, who was wearing, in addition to what was previously the greater part of a Chocolate Frog torso, an expression of total disgust. Ron thought he'd die.

"I demand a recount," Pansy said stonily, flicking a smudge of slimy chocolate from her cheek and turning her hazel eyes to Draco.

Draco's expression of amused superiority did not change. "It's already settled and approved by the Headmaster. And we didn't vote. It was entirely random."

"Hermione!" Ron whined, his throat now clear. "We're supposed to vote on these sorts of changes."

Draco shot Ron a hard glare, and Hermione did not have the courtesy to look abashed.

"Please," Pansy implored, hands clasped and face inclined heavenward, "anything but the Weasel."

"Thanks a lot, Pug-face. That really means a lot to me," Ron deadpanned. "Just so you know, I wouldn't want to be caught dead with you either."

"That's exactly the effect we are going for," Draco intoned, and then, much to Ron's horror, both the Head Girl and Head Boy rolled their eyes in tandem.

"We have scheduled twenty shifts per week: two every night during the week, from six until nine and from nine until midnight, and five on Saturday and Sunday in three hour blocks from nine in the morning until midnight. There will be two watches on duty every shift, which means that each week you will have three shifts, and every third week, you will have four. Basically, it runs on a three week pattern." Hermione withdrew a sheaf of parchment from the bottom of the stack on her clipboard. "This is the rotation schedule, as proposed by the Head Girl and Boy and approved by the Headmaster."

Ron took his chart from the stack as it was handed to him, passing the rest idly across to Pansy, exchanging a disgruntled look as he did so. Padma Patil, who was sitting next to Pansy, encouragingly patted her shoulder. Ron quickly looked over the schedule, which had been color-coded by Year and ran the length of the three terms in advance. A Sixth Year Hufflepuff asked Hermione about possible conflicts with other activities, but, surprisingly, Draco was the one to answer.

"Prefect duties are your first responsibility." A hush descended on the compartment, during which everyone who cared about Quidditch at Hogwarts exchanged nervous glances. "We have tried to schedule around known Quidditch matches, but we leave it up to you to figure out the rest."

There were several muttered protests.

Draco rolled his eyes, and said testily, "Look, it's not my problem. This is elected, after all, you could always quit."

"I think what Malfoy means," Hermione interjected quickly, "is that prefect duties are very important and should take precedence over your other activities. However," Hermione said, brow crinkled and her eyes alight with the exertion of diplomacy and mediation, "in the event of an unavoidable scheduling conflict, come to one of us, and we will think of a solution together."

"No, actually, what I meant was, 'There's the door. If you don't like it, leave.'" Draco was sneering malevolently around the cabin. Apparently, what little power he had as Head Boy was already adding mass to his previously inflated ego.

Ron and Pansy both made to stand up, but Ernie and Padma, who were sitting next to them, respectively, caught their robes and pulled them back down..

"Well, if that's settled, the next order of business is a review of proper disciplinary actions in various scenarios..." Hermione's voice continued to read from her clipboard, but Ron was no longer paying attention. He was looking at the schedule. Nine hours a week alone with Pansy Parkinson? he thought miserably. This year will be the death of me. And then he noticed a very horrifying thing about the pattern of little boxes that were flashing orange with the names "Ronald Weasley and Pansy Parkinson": every third Saturday night, he was meant to spend two shifts with Pansy from six until midnight. He glanced up to see if Pansy had noticed it, too. Apparently, she had, as her eyes were narrowed and she was glaring at Draco with all the hatred of a wet cat.

* * * * *

The moment Hermione dismissed the prefect meeting, Pansy was out of her seat and out the door, slamming several first years out of her way as she stomped down the narrow corridor to find Millicent Bulstrode, Morag MacDougal, and Daphne Greengrass, her best friends. It was one thing, she thought bitterly, to break up with a girl the week before end-of- term exams, but quite another to plan to make her miserable with The Enemy several months later. A second-year Hufflepuff shrilly "meeped" and fled back into his compartment as she charged, full steam ahead, to the second to last compartment on the right, which had been theirs for years. She threw open the door, a battle cry forming on her lips, "Do you know what I'm going to do to that little slimeball--" and stopped.

A large group of fifth year girls were assembled in the compartment. By the looks of them, they were equal parts Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Pansy pulled her head back out the door and confusedly looked back and forth along the corridor, but it was the right compartment.

"Er... where's Bulstrode?" Pansy demanded of them.

"I don't know," one of the girls returned. From the depths of her memory, a name floated up to Pansy, something that more than likely began with a D. Several of the girls were shaking from the effort to contain their laughter.

"Right," Pansy said, turning around to look into the other compartments. There was no sign of her three friends nearby. She stuck her head back through the door. "Sure you didn't see where they went? You can hardly miss Bulstrode."

"What's the matter, Pansy? Lost something?" The voice cut Pansy to the bone. It was sickeningly sweet and carried a mocking undercurrent that Pansy readily identified, having perfected it early on in her Hogwarts career.

Pansy turned her head slowly and met the crystal blue gaze of the girl standing behind her. It was Teeny Nott, a fifth year Slytherin prefect who was blonde, rail thin, and had cheekbones that could cut glass. "Sorry?" Pansy returned sweetly. "Didn't quite catch that."

"She asked you what your problem was." Pansy's eyes flew from Teeny's falsely warm gaze to the much colder gray eyes of Draco Malfoy, whose hands, she saw now, were securely fastened around the frail, tiny little hips of Teeny, who was looking rather too smug for Pansy's liking.

Pansy took a very deep breath. I will be the better person, she thought. "Has the ferret found a new chew toy, then?" Pansy asked before returning her attention to Teeny. "Best be careful not to blink."

Teeny looked momentarily confused. "Why?"

"You'll miss it." Pansy smiled, though her entire body was rolling with rage and her stomach was wound so tightly she was afraid of being sick, and brushed lithely past the two blondes, strutting back up the hall, anxious to lock herself into the toilet and just wait for this to pass.

* * * * *

Ron slowly loped along the corridor to the compartment where he had earlier deposited a mad Neville Longbottom into the care of Harry. Laughter spilled from the open doors of the compartment as Seamus' voice carried down the corridor.

"You should've seen him! Turned his own House colors!" Seamus was laughing loudly, relaying his adventures with Neville to Dean Thomas, who had apparently just wandered in from further along the train.

Without a word, Ron pushed past them and sat down moodily beside Harry, who was laughing madly as Seamus made to imitate Crabbe nearly pissing himself, his own wand held to his face in imitation of what Neville had done.

"It wasn't like that," Neville said to Dean, who was laughing so hard he was in tears.

"Just the mere shock of Neville Longbottom, picking a fight with him!" Seamus bent double again, howling.

Ron caught Neville's gaze, and then quickly suppressed his grin. Neville was nearly purple from embarrassment. Seamus had a tendency to take things a bit too far sometimes. It had been a brilliant sight, indeed, but this was too much. He elbowed Harry in the ribs and gestured towards Neville.

Harry looked from Seamus to Neville, and began choking back his laughter at the look on his face. "So...how was your summer Dean?"

Dean wiped a tear from his eye. "Not bad. Yours?"

Harry shrugged. "I've had worse."

"Still alive, Potty? How unfortunate," a drawling voice invaded from the open doors.

The five Gryffindor boys stilled as Draco Malfoy lazily leaned into the compartment, as if looking around.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked tonelessly.

"I was looking for Granger."

"Well, she's not here," Harry replied coldly.

"Apparently," Malfoy said.

"Apparently." Harry's tone was very final.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow and then turned as if to go, and then said, smirking, over his shoulder, "Might want to see about that fit you had earlier, Longbottom. I hear insanity runs in your family."

Ron and Harry lunged for Neville, but missed. Thankfully, Dean and Seamus moved together, shoulder to shoulder, and made a wall between Neville and Malfoy. Neville, upon realizing that he could not get to Malfoy with his fists, intoned in a murderous voice, "Better see about that pride of yours, Malfoy. I hear it catches up with your family. By the way, how's your father?"

Malfoy paled and the smirk slid off his face. He did not reply, only glared at Neville for a moment longer before retreating down the corridor. After Malfoy disappeared, Neville wrestled past Dean and Seamus and stormed off in the opposite direction.

"Lately, I'm not so sure about him," Seamus said pensively, moments later.

"Which one? Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Wonder what he wanted Hermione for?" Dean pondered out loud, taking Neville's now vacant seat and picking up the copy of Herb Times he had been reading.

"Head Boy stuff, probably," Ron said hatefully, then proceeded to pull out the schedule of prefect rounds and show everyone exactly how much time he had to spend with Pansy Parkinson every week.

"I'm truly sorry, mate," Dean said. "That Parkinson can be a right bitch.."

"Do you suppose one of us should go after him?" Seamus said suddenly.

"Who? Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"No, Neville. I think there's something really wrong with him." Seamus' brow was furrowed with thought. "I mean, he was actually witty back there. Witty. Longbottom. Something just doesn't make sense."

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"Hey, look at this! It's a recipe for Whacky Technicolour Freakout! Potion. Says it 'releases the takers from bad vibes and transports them into the groovier recesses of their own consciousness,'" Dean said enthusiastically, handing the magazine to Harry, who quickly took it and began to read with earnest. "What do you reckon?"

With a sigh, Ron stood, tucking the schedule back into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. "I'll go. I am The Prefect, after all." He stretched his hands up to the ceiling, pushing with his palms against the upholstery above. "I've gotta take a leak anyway."

* * * * *

Pansy was furiously scrubbing her face over the sink in the toilet when a pounding on the door nearly ripped her from her own skin. Her nerves were mostly shot after the Weasley Situation, the Teeny Incident, and now the Chocolate Problem. "Hang on!" Pansy growled to whoever was on the other side of the door.

She went back to scrubbing her face, which was turning rather pink from all the attention. What she hadn't realized at the time of her confrontation with Teeny and Draco was that she was, in fact, still covered in Weasley's chocolate spit, which she was now furiously stripping from her skin as if it were a deadly toxin. The light in the small toilet wavered as the pounding came again, louder this time, and unceasing.

Pansy splashed a final wave of water over her face, which was gleaming a raw pink but blessedly free from all Weasley spit. She turned her back to the mirror, unlocked the door, and kicked it open very quickly. The door made contact with a solid thump, and then partially closed. On the other side, someone male said, with feeling, "Fucking shit!"

"Clever, aren't we? 'Oh, let's be totally obnoxious and pound on the toilet door while someone is very obviously using it, and then stand three inches from it when it finally opens.' Kids these days," Pansy said sarcastically. "You'd think their parents taught them nothing."

Pansy watched as slowly the door opened wide, revealing a very disheveled and nasty-looking Ron Weasley. "It had to be you, didn't it?" he said disdainfully.

She opened her mouth to say something biting and nasty, but what came out instead was, "This is all your fault, Weasley."

Ron's eyes widened. "My fault? How is this my fault? I didn't kick the door into myself, did I?"

"No, but if you hadn't sprayed me with your chocolatey spit, I wouldn't be here in the first place!" Pansy stepped up to Ron. "Therefore, your fault."

Much to Pansy's delight, Ron's face was turning a violent shade of crimson. "No, but if I hadn't been stuck with you on prefect rounds, then I wouldn't have choked." Ron took a step to Pansy so that now they were standing with their arms crossed over their chests less than six inches apart. "Therefore, your fault."

Pansy blinked. "Wait. That doesn't even make sense."

"Obviously, if you hadn't have done whatever it was you did to piss off Malfoy, then he wouldn't have felt the need to put us together."

"Maybe it wasn't me that pissed off Malfoy. Maybe it was you that pissed off Granger."

"Granger has nothing to do with this. It's all Malfoy, I'm sure of it."

Pansy glared up at Ron as Ron glared down at Pansy. Finally, she said in a low voice, "I'm not admitting that you're right, but that seems like something Malfoy'd do. Granger's not that sly."

Ron laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, she's plenty sly, but she's got no reason to be evil to me."

Pansy smirked. "So she broke up with you, then? Poor Weasel King lost his queen."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "And I see that Malfoy's got a new girl." He motioned over his shoulder down the corridor from where Teeny's tinkling laugh was coming. "I bet he broke your heart."

"No," Pansy said strongly. "Not my heart."

"Oh, right!" Ron said as if this was enlightening. "Because you haven't got one. Should've known!"

"Are we done here?" Pansy said. "Because as much pleasure as your company affords, I think I'd rather be disemboweling myself ritualistically. Please and thanks." She stepped around Ron and began to make past him up the corridor, when a very solid someone slammed into her, causing her to crash backwards right into Ron's chest.

"Hey!" she yelled, pushing herself off of Ron's chest. "Watch it!"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Ron said. "Neville!" Ron pushed Pansy away from him, sending her back into the small toilet compartment. There was a pounding of feet as Ron took off at a run after Neville, who was hastily making his way down the corridor. Pansy stepped out from the toilet, rubbing the spot on her back where she had collided with the sink, and watching as Ron grabbed Neville by the shoulders, forcibly turned him around, shook him slightly, and yelled, "What are you on, Neville?"

At which point, a stream of low obscenities erupted from Neville, mixed in with several illuminating things he'd like to do to Malfoy's dead body. In all the years she'd gone to school with Neville, Pansy had never heard him yell or even really raise his voice. His, apparently, was a quiet rage. Or he was just insane.

Now Ron was pushing Neville in front of him back up the corridor. As they passed Pansy, she distinctly heard Neville sputter "ice pick", "aunt", and "Snape's office". Ron, much too concerned with quelling his Housemate, didn't even acknowledge Pansy as he passed.

"What was that all about?" Millicent said suddenly on Pansy's left.

Startled, Pansy turned sharply. Millicent, Morag, and Daphne were all standing there, staring after Ron and Neville with questioning looks. "Oh, you guys. I didn't know you were here."

"We were mingling," Daphne said lightly. When Daphne said, "mingling", what she meant was, "flirting, gossiping, and proving ourselves to be the hot, sexy witches that we are." She was always impeccably groomed, spending on average more time on her eyebrows per term than her studies. But what she lacked for in the classroom, she more than made up for in conversation, as she tended to know everything about everyone, often before they knew it themselves.

"What is it with people today?" Morag intoned with the attitude of being woefully wronged. She had taken lately to wearing huge black smudges of eyeliner so that she looked like she had taken two clumps of coal and ground them into her eye sockets. Not that the look didn't entirely suit her, as she had also shaved her head over the summer and now her outer appearance of being tortured and misunderstood matched what was boiling not so far under the surface.

"Did you know there are a bunch of little girls in our cabin?" Millicent said last. She was still entirely as she had been ever since the first day on the train when Pansy had met her: same lank dark hair in the same shoulder-length cut, no touch of make-up or fashion whatsoever, a tomboy to the last. If she didn't openly harbor an enormous crush on Gregory Goyle, Pansy would have taken her for a lesbian.

Pansy smiled. Sanctuary in friends, she thought happily. "Yeah, I know. They belong to Teeny Nott."

"Who's that?" Morag and Millicent said in unison.

"She's that skanky little blonde sister of Theodore. The one currently attached to Draco's lips. Fifth Year slated to be Seeker after Draco leaves. Daddy's a Death Eater, Mummy's six feet under. Has an amazing grasp of last season's fashions," Daphne said levelly. "And they say she's wickedly funny and rather keen in Transfiguration."

"Oh," Morag said, eyes narrowing. "Her." She picked at her chipped purple nail polish. "I meant to push her off a cliff last year."

Millicent gave Pansy a brief, searching look. "Well, let's go kick them out, then, shall we?"

Morag cracked her knuckles and stomped down the hallway. Daphne readjusted her robes and followed, her heels clicking as she went. Pansy started after them, but Millicent held her back. "Is everything all right, Pansy?"

Pansy smiled weakly. She had been having the worst day of her life to date, but the presence of her friends reassured her nerves and seemed to lift the black cloud of the Weasley Situation, the Teeny Incident, and even the Chocolate Problem. "I'm all right now. Why do you ask?"

"You're just looking a little pink is all," Millicent said graciously.

Pansy touched her face, which was still a little sensitive from all that scrubbing, and laughed. "I think it's safe to say that this year started off entirely on the wrong foot."

Millicent smiled the kind of smile that she reserved only for the benefit of her best friends. "You'll have to tell us all about it. But first, we better go help Aggie and Daph before one of them hurts themselves."

Pansy smiled back. "Right," she said, just as someone shrieked at the end of the corridor and several magazines went flying from the second to last compartment on the right.

Millicent and Pansy strode commandingly down the hallway, side by side, and Pansy was quite sure that if not for the support of her friends, this year would be a total bomb. Luckily for her, though, she had the most loyal inner circle in Slytherin House, and she'd be damned if anyone would ever come between herself, Millicent, Daphne and Morag. It was a friendship with equal parts respect, love, and prejudice, as each of them respected the other's strengths, loved the others despite their shortcomings, and considered themselves far too superior to stoop to fraternizing with people of other Houses. So their quartet had been formed early on in first year, and they had only grown closer with time. They were each invited on the others' family vacations, had never missed getting together for New Year, and were sworn, on pain of death, to secrecy with everything they shared. It had been Daphne who convinced Pansy to ask Draco to the Yule Ball. It had been Millicent who'd helped Daphne through The Worst Haircut Ever. It had been Pansy who helped Morag pass every Charms exam ever set. And it was Morag who finally got Millicent to ask Gregory out at the end of last term. They were inseparable. Together, they could rule the world.

* * * * *

By the time the train finally ground to a halt at the Hogsmeade station, Neville had finally calmed down. Harry had walked him through several deep breathing exercises he had learned from an anger management book Hermione had given him, and Ron had punched Seamus in the shoulder every time he started in on how great it would be to just let Neville loose on whatever Slytherin happened to be handy. At last, it was Dean who was brilliant enough to turn Neville's attention from his murderous rage to the article about Whacky Technicolour Freakout! Potion in Herb Times. The last hour or so of the ride had been spent making lists of ingredients they would need and steeling their resolve to go through with The Plan. There really was no way they could get caught: Dean offered to turn his trunk into a mini greenhouse to grow what plants they'd need, McGonagall rarely, if ever, made an appearance in their dormitory, and as long as they could keep Hermione blissfully ignorant of their scheme, all would go off without a hitch and they'd have Whacky Technicolour Freakout! Potion by Christmas.

Unfortunately, it was raining in Hogsmeade when they arrived. They quickly packed up their things, having been engrossed in The Plan when the train stopped. They made their wet and weary way to one of the last of the thestral-driven carriages, Pig chirping wildly at Neville's pet iguana Bob (Trevor had died mysteriously last year in a freak invisible ink fight accident), and had a rather pleasant drive back to the castle, just the five of them: Ron, Harry, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. If any of them missed Hermione's company, Ron was not the wiser for it.

When they finally reached Hogwarts, it was pandemonium. The thestrals had kicked up quite the patch of mud in front of the castle, and the rain was driving in so hard and the grounds were so black, that several of the younger students had given up entirely on finding the doors and were instead engaging in an impromptu mud fight. Ron handed his trunk and his owl off to his Harry and Seamus, hitched up his pants, and made his way into the cluster of students now throwing mud and shrieking about.

"Oy! OY! Knock it off!" Ron yelled into the throng of mud-soaked pre-teens. He bent and helped a Hufflepuff to her feet and pointed her in the direction of the castle before walking further into the muck. He grabbed a Fourth Year Gryffindor by the back of his robes and pulled him onto his feet. They had managed to make a total mess of things, and Ron was just beginning to wonder where the other prefects were when a voice greeted him from across the mud hole.

"All right, you little shits! Get to the castle this minute before I get angry! You won't like me when I'm angry!" It was Pansy Parkinson, hands on hips, dark hair matted to her head, red lips screaming into the rain. Not the first person Ron would have liked to show up just then, but a prefect none-the-less, and an affective intimidator to say the least.

Several heads popped up in the muck, mud balls dropped from hands, and slowly, the offenders began to make their way up the castle steps. Ron still had hold of the younger Gryffindor and so took this opportunity to say loudly, "You're just lucky she's not the Head Girl, or else you'd be in detention for a month." And then he pushed him towards the castle steps.

The whole debacle was disgusting, really. Ron was covered from tip to toe in mud, his feet squelched as he made his way up the large stone steps, and the situation was not improved as he realized that he was walking into the castle next to Pansy. He felt compelled to say something, as he was generally an affable sort, but just couldn't bring himself to do it. He noticed with some satisfaction that at least her cloak was covered in mud six inches up from the hem.

But nothing could have been worse than what greeted Ron as he stepped through the big oak doors. Everywhere in the entrance hall was mud: muddy footprints leading into the Great Hall, mud splotches on the walls, and huge muddy puddles forming everywhere. And in the center of it all stood Filch, his face twisted in anger. At Ron's side, Pansy lightly swore.

"So," Filch hissed. "So!"

"Yes?" Pansy said irritably. "What?"

Filch's eyes flickered over Ron and then Pansy, no doubt taking in their muddy appearances and, putting that together with the mess in the entrance hall, formed his judgment. "Thought you'd just muck up the castle and steal away into the Great Hall, did you? Well, you're not getting past me this time, no...."

Ron checked his watch, quickly calculated the distance from where he stood to the Great Hall doors, took into consideration the puddles of mud on the slick floor, and decided that if he ran now, he'd probably just make it in before McGonagall showed up and decided to give him a term's worth of detentions. And then Pansy could take the full blame. Of course, there was the unmistakable fact that he was covered in mud. Didn't know how he'd cover that up.

Pansy, meanwhile, was busy wringing out her robes and explaining that it wasn't her, but a large group of unruly Fourth Year Hufflepuffs that had been rolling in the mud just outside.

But Filch wasn't having any excuses. He was walking steadily over to his broom closet and retrieving a mop, a bucket, and an assortment of sponges. Slamming them down before Ron and Pansy, his face alit with glee, he demanded that they hand over their wands. "You'll be cleaning this up without magic, this time, yes...." An odd, scary twinkle was in his eyes.

It suddenly occurred to Ron that Filch was even more cracked than he had previously thought. "Scrub the entrance hall without magic?"

"You're joking!" Pansy said, astonished. She turned to Ron. "He's joking, isn't he?"

"We can only hope," Ron muttered. He turned back to Filch in order to ask for clarification, but the caretaker was stalking back to his office, cackling madly and wringing his hands.

"Oy!" Pansy yelled after him. "What about my wand! OY!"

But Filch didn't so much as flinch.

Shocked, they stood there for several moments, and then Ron took off his mud-covered cloak and began to roll up his sleeves. He bent over and began preparing a mop.

"Oh my god. You aren't actually going through with this, are you?" Pansy asked, stunned. "I mean, he can't expect us to actually clean this place without magic? It will take years! I mean, look at this mess, it's frightful! He's out of his head, there's no way in hell that I'm going to--"

At which point Ron hit her in the face with a wet sponge. "The longer you stand there yacking, the longer it will be before we can eat. So start sponging."

"I am not!" Pansy said shrilly. "Look at this floor! It's filthy!"

Ron stood back up, mop in hand. "Look. I'll do the floor if you do the walls. There's less muck on the walls, and there's only one mop. So you do the walls, and I'll do the floor, and then we can go in there and eat."

Pansy glared and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am not cleaning the walls."

Ron grabbed back the sponge with one hand and thrust the mop at her with the other. Why were girls always so difficult? "Fine. I'll do the walls, and you can do the floor. Happy?"

Pansy snatched back the sponge. "Fine. I'll do the damn walls. But just remember one thing, Weasley."

Ron slapped the wet and sudsy mop down onto the floor with a deafening shlomp! "What's that?"

Pansy was rolling up her sleeves and tying her hair back. "This is entirely your fault, and don't think I'll forget it."

"Whatever," Ron said, well past the point of caring what Pansy had to say. "Just get the fucking walls clean, all right?"

* * * * *

After the Sorting was finished and after Dumbledore had made his start of term address, and just as most of the students were beginning their desserts, Pansy quietly snuck through the doors of the Great Hall, Ron behind her. She was tired and cold, covered in mucky cleaning stuff, and had just spent a very trying quarter hour in Filch's office begging for her wand back.

She sat down heavily at the Slytherin table where her friends had saved her a spot.

"What happened to you?" Daphne said instantly. "You look horrible."

"And you smell like wet dog," Morag said, screwing up her face.

"I don't even want to talk about it," Pansy said testily, drawing an enormous treacle tart closer to her. "I just want to eat dessert, stomp off to bed, and try to forget that this day ever happened."

Millicent passed her a large pudding. "Here you go, love."

Pansy smiled weakly. "Thanks," she said, swallowing a very large mouthful of treacle tart. "I think I might never recover from today. Seriously. If I die tonight in my sleep, you must avenge me."

Morag lowered her head slightly. "You know, I've been reading up on it. Have you ever heard of the Borgias?"

"Aggie, no more morbid shit, all right?" Daphne said quickly. "There are more important things to talk about. For instance, Pansy, do you think the ugly stick hit Blaise over the holidays? Did you see how he's grown out his hair? Yech!"

While Daphne and Morag were staring up the Slytherin table to where Blaise sat, arguing heatedly as to whether or not he needed to wax his eyebrows, Millicent said to Pansy, "Well, it can only go up from here, right?"

At that very moment, however, Teeny Nott was putting Phase Two in motion.. "So," she said brightly to Draco, "I was just thinking about Pansy Parkinson."

Draco stiffened and dropped his fork. "What about her?"

"Oh, I don't know," Teeny said off-handedly, "I mean, I've always kind of thought she was pretty neat, but, I don't know. It's just that she doesn't seem like one of us, you know?"

Draco's gray eyes flashed down the table, where Pansy was busy shoving large amounts of pudding into her face. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing," Teeny whispered in his ear. "She just has moments where she doesn't seem very, well, not very Slytherin. Don't you agree?"

Draco looked at Teeny for a moment, and then turned his attention back down the table. At that moment, Pansy and her friends exploded in a raucous peal of laughter, causing pudding to come out of Pansy's nose. Her eyes glanced up and caught his, and then she carried on laughing as if it didn't even matter. "Sometimes," Draco said, quickly turning his attention back to his own half-eaten dessert. He pushed back from the table. "I'm going to go," he announced.

Crabbe and Goyle stood up across the table from him.

"Okay, then. I'll see you later?" Teeny asked sweetly.

"Yeah," Draco said tonelessly, "meet me in the common room after while." He looked meaningfully at Crabbe and Goyle, turned on his heel, and quickly left the Hall, his goons following.

Teeny finished Draco's dessert, licking the last of it from his fork and smiling to herself wickedly. This is going to be cake, she thought with satisfaction. Pansy Parkinson won't even know what hit her.