Pariah

I Pariah, Chapter Two

Earth to Neville Longbottom, do you copy?

Neville Longbottom had cracked.

It was Wednesday morning in the third week of September, and Ron could not remember the last time he had laughed so hard in Potions.

All things considered, it was a miracle that Harry, Neville, and Ron had gotten into NEWT level Potions in the first place. Even more of a marvel was the fact that sometime over the course of the past few terms, Neville had apparently gotten over his debilitating fear of Snape.

It had started out simply enough. Snape had begun the class with his usual "I hate all of you morons, the sun shines out my arse, I'm going to fail you all, aren't I evil" speech, which, granted, was effective at quelling certain students. But they had heard it every class so far this term, and it was getting rather dull. As Snape intoned his threatening lecture at the dais and most of the students stared off into space, in the back of the room, Neville was whispering along, much to the amusement of Harry and Ron.

"Have no doubt that I take grading seriously," Snape hissed.

"Have no doubt that I care for kittens immensely," Neville said under his breath.

"--NEWT level Potions has been the failing of many of the best students over the years--"

"--newly loving notions of them flayed on toast for breakfast, often with eels," Neville breathed.

Harry and Ron snorted. Snape paused. The entire class froze.

"It is perhaps no surprise to learn that only half of you received acceptable scores," Snape continued, flashing a dangerous look at them before moving on to intimidate Hannah Abbott.

"It is perhaps no surprise to learn that I especially enjoy calicos." Neville's lips were barely moving, and he was staring down at his notebook, where he was apparently taking notes.

"I refuse to inform you again of my expectations. For those who do not know the subtle science and exact art of potion making by now, it is too late for you to learn..."

"I refuse to inform you of my exploits in the kitchen. For those of you who do not care for the subtle science and exact art of kitten cooking, it is never too late to stew..."

If Ron hadn't been dying with silent laughter, he might have heeded the looks of warning cast by the other students at the Gryffindor boys, who were sitting at their customary table by the door. And he might have even cared that Hermione was quietly whispering warnings at him, Harry, and Neville, as she sat with Terry Boot and Susan Bones. However, Ron's eyes had gone crossed and he was clutching at his side where a terrible stitch had laid in, and so he was in no position to note that Neville had increased his volume a notch.

"This is sink or swim, plain and simple," Snape finished, turning to face the class at large again.

"With leeks and squid, tastes delicious."

"Do I make myself clear, Longbottom?"

The heads of the Gryffindor boys snapped up: black, brown, and red, all in a row. Ron's cheeks were puffed out by the exertion of holding in his laughter. Harry was bright red and had put his knuckles in his mouth. Neville, however, seemed unmoved.

"Yes, sir, Professor Sssnake, sir." And then, he saluted.

At which point, Ron and Harry roared with laughter and Snape swooped down on them.

Neville alone stayed calm.

"Are you getting smart with me, Longbottom?"

"Unnerving, isn't it? I can't explain it myself, really," Neville deadpanned.

Unnerved, Snape was. "Detention!" he snapped. "For all of you!" He pointed at Harry, Ron and Neville in turn. "And fifty points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Longbottom. I will not have my class disrupted in such a manner again!" Snape gave the stunned Gryffindor boys an icy look and turned his back.

And then Neville stood.

Snape whirled. "What is it, Longbottom?"

"I think you should leave the kitties alone, sir." The entire class stared at him.

Stunned, Snape only said, "What?"

"They don't like being smeared on toast, sir." Several people exchanged worried glances.

Snape looked down at Ron and Harry, apparently trying to determine if this was a joke. Ron had gone sheet white, and Harry was gazing with very wide eyes. All of the laughter was out of them.

"Are you feeling all right, Mr. Longbottom?"

"And they don't much appreciate stewing with the leeks and the squid, sir."

Snape looked from Neville's face to Ron and Harry. "Weasley, Potter, take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. He obviously isn't in his head."

"Oh, no," Neville said, putting his hands up to cover his ears. "Not that again."

Ron and Harry quickly grabbed their books and began to steer Neville from the room. A murmur broke out among their classmates. Ron caught Hermione's eye; she looked very concerned. And then he caught the eyes of some of the other members of the class, who were looking on with intense curiosity. Except for Malfoy. He looked like he had just won first prize in a smiling git contest.

Once in the hall, Neville dropped his hands from his head and turned to Harry and Ron. "I have to show you something," he whispered. "Follow me."

* * * * *

The end of Potions could not come quickly enough for Pansy. It was a wretched day. She had woken up late with a spot on her chin, her hairbrush had disappeared, and she had a horrible feeling all morning that her skirt was too short in the back, allowing everyone walking up the stairs behind her to see up her robes to her orange panties. On top of that, she had three essays to write and prefect rounds with Weasley that evening. She was going to take the opportunity of morning break to sneak down to the dormitories and put on a hat, maybe grab a quick bite of chocolate, since she had missed breakfast and was now miserable for it.

In her haste to get out of her seat, however, Pansy did not notice that the strap of her bag was caught around the leg of her chair. And so when she stood quickly and made to pull her bag onto her shoulder, she was stopped short as the chair toppled into the weak spot at the back of her knee, which caused her leg to buckle and her ankle to give, and she toppled in her new stompy platform boots that were not quite broken in yet.

As Pansy fell, she felt as if she was watching from outside herself. She saw her arm fly out. She saw herself get hit in the head with her bag. She saw her robes flip over her shoulder. She saw her new quick dry raspberry-coloured ink spill on her face. And she saw her orange panties exposed for the entire world to see.

Back inside herself, she felt the world tip, saw the floor rush to meet her, felt a breeze and a bang, heard a shatter and then the sounds of the entire class laughing at her. Her eyes were squeezed shut tight, and she didn't dare move. She had never actually felt the floor of the Potions classroom before, but she had to admit that it felt pretty cool beneath her face right then.

"Gee, Pansy. I never knew you supported the Cannons," Draco drawled from somewhere above her. "Nice panties."

That's it, Pansy thought dully. I've died and gone to hell. I'm in hell wearing Chudley Cannons panties, and Draco Malfoy is here because I killed him just before I died of embarrassment. Yes, Malfoy and Snape. If I never open my eyes, I never have to admit that this happened. If I can just keep my eyes closed...

"Miss Parkinson, please get out of my sight," Snape hissed from somewhere above her.

Pansy slowly rolled over and opened her eyes to find Snape standing directly above her, arms folded across his chest with an inscrutable look on his face. Was it horror or something else entirely?

"Sorry," Pansy said quietly, mortified that Snape had probably been staring at her orange-clad bum. She hastily pulled her little skirt over her arse and stood, careful to avoid Snape's eyes, and adjusted her robes so that she was decent. She grabbed her bag, which was split and covered in ink, and followed the last person out of class. The moment she reached the hall, she took off at a run for her dormitory.

* * * * *

In Greenhouse Eight, Harry and Ron were hurriedly shrinking the plants that Neville handed them and shoving them into their pockets. Neville had led them out here at a trot, unlocked the greenhouse door with an incantation, and then had proceeded to shove things at them, muttering things like Luminaris Peregrinis and Pareris Magnapaxus. Even though Neville was sure that Professor Sprout was engaged otherwise in Greenhouse Three with some second years, Ron was still very apprehensive about the whole situation.

"Are you sure about this?" Ron whispered.

"I do the inventory. That's how I found out about Sprout's secret stash," Neville said simply, handing Ron something that had purple spines, but which preened when touched.

"You're sure she's not going to miss these?" Harry whispered.

"Professor Sprout is pretty much in her own little world." Neville handed Ron something with pink polka dots. "Anyone who wears open-toed sandals in the winter isn't exactly with us."

Ron, however, wasn't convinced. "She's going to know it was you."

Neville bent over to look at something that was cowering on the bottom shelf. "I'm not the only one who knows how to unlock the greenhouses."

"Who else, then?" Ron badgered.

"Well, Dumbledore, for starters," Neville said calmly, rising up with his palm curled around a sparkly fern-type thing.

Ron snorted. "What would Dumbledore want with all these plants? They're hallucinogens."

Harry and Neville both gave him a look.

"Oh, right," Ron said, now sufficiently calmed. "What does that one do then?"

Neville held up the plant appraisingly. It's little fern fingers stretched out, dazzling in the sunlight that streamed through the greenhouse windows. "When the spores are imbibed, you think you're being chased by dragons. Pretty realistic ones, by all accounts."

Ron flinched and moved away from the small plant. "That's not in the potion, is it?" He looked nervously at Harry.

"No," Neville said with a grin, shrinking it and putting it in a small glassine bag, "this one's for fun."

* * * * *

Pansy skipped the rest of her classes that day, choosing to isolate herself in her favorite tee shirt with an enormous stash of chocolate. She was too traumatized to show her face, which was still a little purple from where her quick dry ink had settled when it smashed all over her. She spent her lunch hour quietly reposed on her bed, working on her Arithmancy essay and eating a chocolate bar. Something reckless had been growing inside her over the past few weeks; something that made her misplace things, wear funny clothes, and skip classes. She had always been so careful, so meticulous, so almost perfect before now, before Life Without Draco. It hadn't really sunk in until the first week of term. She didn't miss him, necessarily, as he always seemed to be around. But there was no one else there to fill the vacancy: she didn't have another crush, and no one would come near her, probably because of Draco. That realization had borne this recklessness that was equal parts liberation, anger, and loneliness. She called it the Draco Malfoy Syndrome, and the only way to curb it was to eat her weight in chocolate, drink lots of cherry soda, and wear stompy platform boots.

During the afternoon, she snuck out to the girls' bathroom on the second floor, using a secret set of stairs that led from the dungeons. Just as she was leaving, the bell rang that released the students for dinner. Panicking, Pansy locked herself in one of the loos and tucked her feet up so that no one would see them and guess that she was hiding there. It was one thing to be found with a purple splotchy face, quite another to be caught perched on top of a toilet hiding one.

The bathroom door slammed open, and Pansy heard two pairs of feet tramp in before the door was shut again.

"Can you believe it?" a small voice asked. In the large bathroom, the voice echoed a bit, making it sound unreal to Pansy, who was trying her best not to fall over.

"I feel really bad for her, though," came another voice, one that Pansy recognized. Teeny. "I mean, the poor dear. Letting everyone see her fat arse in orange knickers. Including Snape."

Teeny laughed wickedly and the other girl pretended to retch.

Pansy felt the symptoms of the Draco Malfoy Syndrome return: burning fingertips, acid stomach, overwhelming desire to strangle Teeny Nott.

"Probably the closest the jerk has gotten to getting any in a long time."

"Do you mean Pug-face or Batman, Diana?" Teeny laughed. "Because on that, I'm sure it's a toss up. They're obviously both virgins."

Pansy felt her face growing hotter.

"Really? You mean her and Draco never...?" Diana said.

A sink turned on, and Teeny said. "He said she's frigid."

They both laughed. Pansy's foot slipped a little. She was cramping up something terrible, not sure how much longer she could stay crouched on top of the toilet. Go ahead, dig your own grave, Teeny Nott, Pansy thought viciously.

"We should set her up with Snape. They'd make a cute couple, wouldn't they? Pug-face and Batman."

"Seriously, Diana," Teeny said, a note of disgust in her voice. "That's disgusting. Like anyone would want Parkinson!"

Both girls erupted in laughter again. Pansy clenched and unclenched her fists, silently praying she wouldn't fall.

The door to the bathroom opened and closed again as someone new came in. "Have you seen Pansy?" It was Morag.

"No," Teeny said sweetly. "Why?"

"She disappeared after Potions." The thudding of Morag's heavy boots moved further towards Pansy's roost. A stall door further down slammed open, followed by another and another and another as Morag worked her way down the line. Pansy knew exactly what she was doing: she was kicking open all the stall doors, looking for her. It was what Pansy did before she started any conversation in a supposedly deserted bathroom, except this time Morag sounded a bit peeved as she stomped along. Teeny and Co. had a lot to learn yet. Pansy leaned forward and unlocked the door to her stall as the door to her right flew open with a deafening echo. Pansy felt the reverberation in the toilet seat she was crouched on. She shut her eyes.

"Well, she's not in here," Diana said. "You're just wasting your time."

Then Pansy's door flew open, and Morag looked Pansy square in the face. For a second, Morag's face lifted fractionally and just as her mouth opened, Pansy quickly raised a finger to her lips. Morag's face went blank again, and then she moved to kick open the door to Pansy's left.

"Good luck, then!" Teeny said brightly. "We're going to dinner!"

"Whatever," Morag said peevishly, kicking open another door.

The door to the bathroom opened and shut. In a moment, Morag was standing in front of the stall.

"They're gone. Now, do you mind telling me what that was all about?" Her black-ringed eyes were glowing brightly and she stood in the Morag Pose: hands on hips, eyebrow raised, her left foot jutting out slightly in front of her. Her hair had grown out a quarter inch and was sticking up in a black fluff all over her head, as if she had been pulling at it all day.

Pansy jumped heavily down from her perch, the tension releasing in her legs as she stood and stretched them several times. "Teeny is such a cunt," Pansy said maliciously.

Morag didn't say anything as Pansy pushed past her to the sinks and stood staring into one of the mirrors. Slowly, she came up beside her. "What happened?"

"Well, apparently," Pansy said sarcastically, "I'm not only frigid, but not even good enough for Snape. Oh, and I've got a fat arse. Which everyone in Potions saw, and which is apparently the big news today."

"You do not have a fat arse," Morag said fervently. "You've got a very lovely arse. At least, that's what Theodore Nott said at lunch."

Pansy snorted. "You're not helping."

Morag rolled her eyes and leaned against the next sink over. "Come on, Pansy. Who really gives a fuck what Teeny thinks anyway?"

"Draco does," Pansy said bitterly.

Unfazed, Morag continued in the same steady no-bullshit tone. "Again, who really gives a fuck what Draco Malfoy thinks?"

"He's Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. The way he throws his weight around... well, there's no telling what people will think." Pansy thoughtfully chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Okay. I'm confused," Morag said loudly, holding a hand up as if to stop Pansy blithering on. "Why do you care? I mean, what does it matter?"

Pansy eyed Morag suspiciously. "Because," she said slowly, "Teeny's up to something, I'm sure of it."

"Or you could just be paranoid," Morag said evenly.

Pansy nodded. "Maybe."

They shared a thoughtful moment as Pansy went through a list of possible ways Teeny and Draco were trying to fuck her over, each one as plausible as the next.

"Well, I'm going to dinner," Morag announced at last. "Are you coming?"

"What?" Pansy said, coming out of her reverie. "Oh, I don't think so."

"Just because you're covered in purple splotches and obviously haven't brushed your hair is no reason to starve," Morag reasoned.

"How about that by now everyone in the entire school knows that I'm wearing Chudley Cannons panties? Does that excuse me?" Pansy asked sarcastically.

"Are they the ones I gave to you last Christmas?" Morag asked conversationally, turning toward the door.

"Yeah. They're just too comfy." Pansy eyed the door as Morag opened it.

"You do realize that if you stay sulking in the bathroom, you're letting the situation get the better of you. You know that, right?" Morag asked, holding her hand out for Pansy to take.

"No, if I stay sulking in the bathroom, I'm letting myself to be miserable in the bathroom missing dinner," Pansy said, and then, as if on cue, her stomach rumbled. She hadn't had anything but chocolate and cherry soda since last night's dinner. "Oh, all right!" Pansy took Morag's hand and together they stomped to the Great Hall.

* * * * *

"No!" Ron and Harry said simultaneously.

"Yes!" Seamus laughed. "I can't believe you haven't heard! She fell down right in front of Snape and the whole class! And you know what the best part is?"

"What?" Harry and Ron asked through mouthfuls of mash.

"They were Chudley Cannons! She was wearing Cannons panties!" Seamus howled again with laughter, helping himself to another serving of roast beef.

Ron nearly choked, but managed to swallow successfully. "What? She was wearing what?" This was his prefect partner, after all. The one he spent hours alone with every week roaming the castle. That she could have been a Cannons fan all this time and he'd never known...

"Orange! Chudley! Cannons! Panties!" Seamus said excitedly.

"Gee, Ron," Hermione said quietly across the table from behind a book. "Sounds like your type of girl."

Ron glared at her and stabbed at the food on his plate. "So, Harry, what do you think our Quidditch chances are this year?" It was an exhaustive subject for the Gryffindor boys, as they were eager to keep the Cup in McGonagall's office.

"Are you kidding?" Ginny said from beside Hermione. "We're going to cream them. We've got the best bloody offence in the school, not to mention Ravenclaw is having a rebuilding year, and Zacharias is just plain rubbish, couldn't lead his team out of a paper sack..."

But Ron wasn't listening to his sister rail on about Quidditch anymore. Pansy Parkinson had just walked in holding hands with that weird, bald girl that she hung out with all the time. She looked like hell: even Ron could tell that her hair was all messed up and she looked like she had bruises all over her face. She wasn't wearing her robes anymore, just a short black skirt, a faded black Weird Sisters tee, and huge black boots. Slowly, the din of the hall lessened as more and more people turned to stare at Pansy and her friend making their way to the Slytherin table. She stood for a moment and scanned the crowd. Beside Ron, Seamus cupped his hands in front of his mouth and hollered, "Speech!"

Several people clapped, but all eyes were on Pansy, including, Ron noted, the narrowed black embers of Snape's. It looked for a second as though Pansy was just going to sit down quietly, but then, without warning, she put one heavy boot up on her seat, and then drew the other up so that she was standing on the table.

"I don't believe it," Hermione said reprovingly.

"Bloody hell," Seamus said, amazed. "I didn't think she'd actually do it."

Commanding the attention of the Great Hall as she stood on the Slytherin table, Pansy cleared her throat. "I'd just like to thank all of you for your support during this trying time," she said loudly, a sneer playing at her lips as she looked down the Slytherin table.

"Miss Parkinson, that's quite enough," McGonagall said from the staff table.

"Right, well, go Cannons!" Pansy raised her fist in the air and the entire Great Hall broke out in applause. And then she did something truly amazing: she lifted up her skirt and jiggled her backside at the school, the Chudley Cannons logo well visible. Half the students rose to their feet, Ron and Seamus among them, whistling. Neville and Harry just gaped. Ginny grinned.

"I can't believe the utter lack of respect she has for herself," Hermione judgmentally surmised, tutting loudly. Ron shot her a glare.

Pansy sat down in her seat, only to be pulled up a second later by a very livid-looking Snape, his hand clenching her upper arm. Pansy smiled weakly to her friends before being nearly dragged from the Great Hall.

"Snape will have her badge for that," Hermione said darkly, turning back to her book.

"Oh, lighten up why don't you?" Ron said harshly. "Some people like to have fun. I know that might seem unforgivably wrong to you..."

Harry elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Hermione looked at him piercingly. "Ron, we are not having this discussion here."

"Oh, don't look at me like that! You're such a... a prude! That's what you are!" Ron threw his napkin down on his plate and pushed back from the table. "I've got to do some things before rounds tonight. See you later, Harry." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the Hall.

Ron stopped as soon as he reached the foot of the marble staircase. Snape was whispering harshly to Pansy at the door that led down to the dungeons. She was holding his gaze challengingly the entire time Ron watched. She didn't even blink when Snape gave her a week's worth of detentions.

"Just be thankful it's not expulsion. One more stunt like that, Miss Parkinson, and we'll be short one Slytherin prefect. Am I understood?" Snape hissed. He was still gripping her arm.

"Yes, Professor," Pansy said resolutely. "It won't happen again."

"I am gravely disappointed in you, Pansy." Snape released her with a gentle shove and Pansy stepped back from him. He stood for a second, glaring at her, before he turned and made his way back to the Great Hall.

Ron watched Snape sweep back into the Great Hall without acknowledging Ron's presence on the stairs. Then he turned to look at Pansy.

She didn't say a word to him, just gingerly rubbed her arm before she began to slowly descend the stairs to the dungeons.

"Parkinson!" Ron called.

She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder.

"Don't forget--we've got rounds at six," Ron said, taking one halting step towards her.

Pansy nodded and started back down the steps.

"Hey--are you all right?" Ron blurted.

Slowly, Pansy turned. Her face was shadowed as she said simply, "See you at six, Weasley."

Ron watched her disappear into the dungeons before stuffing his hands into his pockets and pensively making his way up to Gryffindor tower. It was a long walk when taken without shortcuts, but Ron was appreciative of the time to think. What had happened back there in the entrance hall? He had felt empathy for Pansy Parkinson. Empathy. For Pansy Parkinson. It wasn't sympathy or pity, both of which he could pass off as feeling sorry for her. But empathy? That implied something else altogether. He had been given that look from Snape before. He knew that look. It was not a pleasant one. And he knew embarrassment. Man, how he knew embarrassment. Hadn't he just now lost his cool with Hermione in the Great Hall, calling her a prude in front of everyone? He had let her get the better of him, yet again.

It had never been openly spoken of, but Ron knew exactly what it was. Dating Hermione had changed everything. It made no difference that they dated for less than a year and they were still "friends." But things were just different now, rendering him completely unable to be contrary with her without feeling guilty. It was pathetic, he knew, but he didn't want to hurt her. He especially didn't want to say anything that might be mistaken for him trying to hurt her. And he didn't want people thinking that he was trying to hurt her because he was mad at her for breaking up with him. Because he wasn't. Not really. Okay, a little. But still.

That didn't lessen the fact that when Pansy Parkinson had mooned the entire Great Hall, he had felt warm in the pit of his stomach and then immediately guilty. And it didn't change the fact that he had wanted to say something to Pansy to make her feel better, just like he used to do with Hermione. And it didn't change the fact that he wanted Hermione to know that he had gotten over her just as quickly as she had gotten over him. It had only been since last summer, and it was near impossible to find her without Terry Boot. Early on, he had wished someone would just push the Ravenclaw off a cliff, but that feeling had since dissolved into a steady, unspecific malice.

It had been bad enough when Hermione tore his heart out, threw it on the ground, kicked it against the wall, and then hugged him and said, "Just because I don't want to date you, Ron, doesn't mean that no one else ever will."

Yeah, Ron thought, I can do much better than Terry Boot. Wait. That didn't come out right. I can do much better with a girl than Hermione did with Terry Boot. Yeah, that's what I meant. And then he made himself a promise that he would have a date for the first Hogsmeade weekend, just to prove to himself that he was over her.

He reached the portrait of the fat lady, muttered the password, and headed up to his dormitory, taking from his pockets the little shrunken plants they had filched from Greenhouse Eight earlier that day. And if worst came to worse and he couldn't find a date to Hogsmeade, he'd just sit around and play Herbologist with Neville.

Even hanging out with Neville, who was very likely insane, was better than being alone.

* * * * *

At five after six, Pansy ascended the stairs from the dungeons, cutting right through the center, making eye contact with every single person coming back from dinner. After being gently escorted from the Great Hall by her Head of House, Pansy had thrown herself down on the bed and sobbed. It lasted for about thirty seconds, and then Pansy had gotten mad.

She had a steaming hot shower, scrubbed the rest of the ink from her face and neck, brushed her hair until it was absolutely gleaming, and then pinned her prefect badge to the lapel of her black flannel pajamas with little cherries on them, put on her pink fluffy slippers, and made her way up to meet Weasley, wand in hand.

She strolled up to him determinedly as he sat on the third stair from the bottom of the main staircase, chin in hand and looking morose.

"Ready?" she said brightly as she stood in front of him.

"Huh?" he said lazily, looking up at her finally. He blinked. "Why are you wearing pajamas?"

"Because I like them," Pansy said fiercely.

"Right, but they're your pajamas," Ron reiterated.

"Clever, you are." Pansy rolled her eyes. They had developed a stunning repartee of steady insults early on in their relationship as prefect partners, and it usually always started with Weasley commenting on what she was wearing. "Isn't it too warm for a turtleneck?" "Isn't it too cold for a tank top?" "You don't normally wear jeans, do you?" Between that odd habit and the tight little tee shirts and maroon sweaters he always wore, she wondered vaguely if he was gay.

"Why aren't you wearing clothes?" Ron asked.

"Calm down, Weasley. Pajamas are clothes, and besides, I looked it up. There is no dress code in the prefect bylaws. I could go stark naked if I wanted to." Pansy glared at a fourth year Ravenclaw passing on the steps.

"Only if you had your nipples pierced," Ron said.

"What?" Pansy snapped. Did he just say what I thought he said?

"Well, you'd have to put your prefect badge somewhere, wouldn't you?" Ron grinned wolfishly.

Yes, he did. "Weasley, are you imagining me naked?" Pansy accused.

"Maybe," Ron said offhandedly, getting to his feet.

"And...?"

"And what?" Ron started up the stairs and Pansy followed.

"And how do I look?" Pansy insisted as she took the stairs two at a time to get in front of him.

"What? Right now? Comfortable."

"No, I mean, how do I look naked?" Pansy said, turning to face Ron, causing him to stop right in front of her a few steps lower. Damn, Pansy thought, he's tall. Draco, of course, was only a few inches taller than her, which is why she bought the platform boots to begin with. She was starting to enjoy the role of Scary Intimidating Ex-Girlfriend.

Several younger Gryffindors stopped and stared at them. Ron glared and they ran up the stairs.

"How would I know?" Ron asked, turning a brilliant shade of red.

"You blush too easily, Weasley," Pansy said thoughtfully. "That's evidence of a guilty conscience. That's why Slytherins never blush. It's okay if you've thought about me naked."

Ron made an odd protesting noise in his throat.

"I'm a girl. You're a boy. We've all got needs." Pansy was trying desperately hard to keep a straight face, but could feel the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk.

"Quit yanking my chain, Parkinson," Ron said suddenly, pushing past her.

"Oooh! Kinky!" Pansy followed him. "First, it's piercing, now it's chains. You're a dirty, dirty boy, Weasley. But that's okay. I won't tell Granger." She imitated zipping her lips.

Ron looked mortified, but continued on with the banter. "Well, I'd appreciate that, you big perv. We Cannons fans have to stick together, you know."

"Oh, so you were there, then?" Pansy said crossly.

"Parkinson, the entire school was there." Ron rounded the top of the stairs and started down the corridor to the right: their usual route. "Not that it really matters to you, I suppose."

Pansy laughed. The recklessness was taking over again; she could feel it unwinding around her heart at the exact place from where the Draco Malfoy Syndrome always radiated. She had to admit that she thought she had managed to do a pretty decent job of stitching herself together over the summer holidays, but she still hadn't mended in places. Just because she was Slytherin didn't mean she wasn't human.

"But I thought it was brilliant, by the way," Ron said, opening the door of a darkened classroom and peaking his head in. "I didn't even know they made Cannons panties."

"They were special order," Pansy said shortly, continuing nonchalantly, "So, how's my arse? Teeny Nott says it's fat, but her brother thinks it's lovely. I can't possibly be objective about it. What do you think?" She stuck out her backside, bending over a bit and lifting the tail of her flannel top so that Ron had an unhindered view.

Ron shut the door of the classroom and turned around to find Pansy with her arse up in the air in the middle of a deserted hallway. "Woah!" Ron cried. "Put that thing away, Parkinson!"

"Fat then?" Pansy pouted, turning around to face her prefect partner.

Ron was frozen in the doorway, staring at Pansy. "Not really, I mean, I didn't really look." He was that vile shade of red again.

Pansy snickered. This was really too easy. "Fine. You're off the hook this time, Weasley." She padded lazily across the corridor in her pink slippers, checking the classroom on the other side, and then moving on to the next door, and the next, all the way along that side of the corridor. She turned around several times, but Ron was never looking at her. At least, she never caught him.

At the end of the corridor, after they had checked all the doors, they went up a side staircase to the floor above. It wasn't made explicit to them what, exactly, they were looking for, having only been told to keep a look out for "anything suspicious." She exchanged small talk and insults with Ron for the next couple hours as they moved through the castle at a fairly good pace, sometimes meeting up with the other pair of prefects, who were fifth years from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. When they returned to the Great Hall, they still had a half hour to spare.

Pansy sat down heavily on the steps, exhausted, but Ron made a beeline for the front doors. "Where are you going?" she asked him.

"Outside." Ron pulled open the front doors, and instantly Pansy felt a rush of cool air on her face, which ended just as quickly as Ron shut the door behind him.

Pansy only thought about it for a second, then sprang up from the stairs and went to join Ron on the cold stone front steps of the castle.

"I reckon it's about the last night of summer," Ron said casually as Pansy sat down a few feet away from him. He was stretched out on his back in one of those tee shirts that looked like it was a size too small and jeans that looked like they were several inches too big around the waist. They rode low on his hips, and Pansy could see the band of his orange boxer shorts and a gleaming strip of moon-pale tummy in the space where his tee shirt didn't reach.

Pansy, unable to control herself, stared at the strip of skin visible between shirt and trousers. Ron wasn't pale in the same way that Draco was pale. Draco was practically translucent in his paleness, fragile, even. But there was something entirely different about Ron. First of all, he was totally unguarded in his demeanor. Draco, though fragile, was never unguarded, never vulnerable. Secondly, even that low on his tummy he had freckles. As if he had been outside all summer with his shirt off. Probably getting all sweaty and building big muscles and...

"What?" Ron asked suddenly.

Pansy's eyes snapped from Ron's waist to his face. He was grinning a bit mischievously; his head lifted an inch so that he could see her. She blushed, and then looked out across the lake. "Nothing."

"Were you checking me out?" Ron asked playfully.

Pansy heard him sit up, but kept her gaze leveled at the lake. The squid was splashing around, disturbing the reflection of stars. "Uh-uh." Pansy shook her head and swallowed. Her mouth was very dry suddenly.

"You were checking me out, weren't you?" Ron accused. "You were looking at my crotch!"

Pansy snapped her head up to utterly deny it, but he wasn't sitting down anymore. Now he was standing up, towering above her. Her eyes roved up his body to meet his gaze. This time, she did look at his crotch. Oh, fuck, she thought aggressively. I can't be that desperate.

"You did it again!" Ron cried.

"Oh, piss off!" Pansy croaked, standing up and making to go back into the castle.

Ron leapt in front of her, blocking her way up the stairs. "You were checking me out. Admit it."

"Never," Pansy said in what she had intended to be murderous tone, but what came out instead was throaty, seductive, and even a bit suggestive. Not knowing exactly what she was doing, but knowing she had to do it all the same, Pansy stepped onto the one step separating them, holding his gaze. She wasn't sure, but it looked like he had stopped breathing altogether. At such proximity, he smelled faintly of chocolate and dry autumn leaves. She slowly lifted the hem of his shirt and moved her fingertips along the waistband of his boxer shorts, softly touching the plane of skin that had so enthralled her earlier. Smooth.

Ron shivered and Pansy stepped back, her own words echoing in her head, I'm a girl. You're a boy. We've all got needs. Her eyes widened and she stared up at Ron, who was looking at her with the same astonished expression.

It was too much. She ran back to the castle, leaving Ron alone on the steps.

Ron stared after Pansy, wondering what the fuck had just happened and, furthermore, why the fuck he hadn't wanted it to stop. Pansy was the last person he would ever consider in that way: she was enemy territory for starters, obviously totally crazy, and she didn't seem to give a damn about anything. But just then, it had seemed like she wanted him. Someone had wanted him. Someone the exact opposite of Hermione had wanted him. Had looked at him. Had touched him. And, man, had it felt good.