Inter-House Cooperation

Chapter One- The Slytherins

Pansy Parkinson had quite a lot on her mind. The to-do list was written down, carefully locked away in her pink, silk-covered diary, begging for items to be crossed off: seduce Draco, comfort Blaise, educate Millicent, hold fund-raising event for the Dark Lord, glare at Potter. It continued on for five pages, and was quite an impressive list.

If she accomplished any of it, it would be very impressive indeed.

***

Pansy and Millicent exchanged a Look.

"Blaise, honey," Pansy said, lower lip trembling, as she gazed at the boy strewn dramatically across her bed in careless disregard of her pillows, "who is it this time?"

"Zacharias Smith." It was not a name, it was a sigh, loosed from the dark boy's lips with utmost significance and meaning. This time, when the Look passed between the girls, it held a note of panic.

"Zacharias Smith?" she echoed incredulously. She was used to Blaise's crushes, of course, but perhaps this was going a bit far.

"Isn't he a Hufflepuff?" asked Millicent. Blunt, as always. No tact whatsoever.

Pansy surveyed her friends with dismay. She had spent the past six years trying to knock some culture into the only two Slytherins who wanted to kill her less than three times a week, and she had ended up with a tactless mass of fat and a lovelorn pretty-boy who was "cultivating a waif look," as he put it. No. She would stand this no longer.

Well, maybe a little bit longer.

"Blaise," she said carefully, "have you ever actually talked to him?"

"No, alas," sighed Blaise. "Never have I dared to voice to him my true feelings. Never have I told him how radiantly he beams, how heartbreaking is his frown, how very Slytherin is his contempt for Harry Potter. I am, alas, too reserved to speak my heart to the multitudes. Although I did once ask Finch-Fletchey to pass me a scone from the Hufflepuff table, and I'm sure the two are acquainted."

"You're not supposed to talk to Hufflepuffs!" Pansy exclaimed, scandalised. "Didn't your mother teach you that? And besides, you do speak your heart to the multitudes. Constantly. Last week you told the entire common room you were in love with Terry Boot."

"Well, I was in love with Terry Boot."

"You were not in love!" shouted Pansy, losing her temper. She immediately felt guilty for it, but plundered on. "You can't be in love with people if you can't decide which one to be in love with! You just like to say you are!"

Blaise looked up at her, eyes wide. "Pansyyyyyy...you're hurting my feelings."

"Oh dear," said Pansy. Now the boy had her flustered. Somehow she thought she should have kept yelling at him, but she couldn't let her poor baby be so sad. "Oh, Blaise, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, really I didn't. Will you be all right?"

"I'm afraid I shall never be all right." And now he was pouting, and Pansy was a sucker for a pout. All hope of authority was lost. She began to pat him on the head, offering tea and biscuits and her pink teddy bear (which, she belatedly noticed, he was already clutching).

"I could punch Smith until he agrees to go out with you," Millicent suggested. Blaise let out an ear-splitting shriek.

"No! How dare you suggest I could stand by while you injured my one true love! It is an outrage! He is far too attractive for me to let him be marred by bruises and scrapes. Although you could put him in handcuffs, if you liked," he finished brightly.

"Nobody will be putting anybody in handcuffs," said Pansy, absentmindedly stroking Blaise's hair. "Blaise, dear, are you sure I can't make you tea?"

"Tea? Tea will not assuage my wounded soul! Only my beloved can comfort me!" Pansy did not remark on the small likelihood that Smith would be interested in comforting Blaise, but she did admit this was looking like one of the problem crushes. She would have to make him stop, sooner or later.

"I still say punch him," muttered Millicent. Blaise wailed and collapsed into Pansy's bosom.

Deep breath, Parkinson. It was time to take control. "Blaise," she began, "you will fall out of love with this boy right now. He's not good enough for you. Millicent, you will start acting like a proper Slytherin, sneaky and cruel, not openly violent. That's why we have a bad reputation. And I," she concluded, "will go find Draco, who can deal with this mess properly." Or at least I hope so, she added to herself.

"With what mess?" Draco, to speak of the devil, was standing in the open door to the girls' dormitory. His hair was tousled, a sure sign that he was too angry to care about looks, and his eyes were trying very hard not to blaze with fury. Caught unawares, Pansy's heart started to flutter in a most unSlytherin-like manner.

"Oh, Draco!" Pansy squeaked. Silently cursing, she readjusted her voice to a sexier tone. "It's only poor Blaise here. He's fallen in love again, and I thought we should all help him, you know, to stop falling in love with Huff- with people. It's chronic, you know. Like an illness."

"Oh," said Draco helpfully. Then he scowled and kicked the bedpost, causing Blaise to squawk indignantly. Oh dear, thought Pansy, shaking her head. She had already begun offering the same tea and biscuits she had pressed upon Blaise, while Draco flung himself into an armchair.

"But whatever is it, Draco?" she asked at last, when he did not respond to any of her suggestions.

"Potter!" he spat. She should have known. "Only ruining my cunning plans, as usual! And he doesn't even do it on purpose. He encouraged that Granger Mudblood to check out the library book that would have taught us how to ritually sacrifice small reptiles to add to the Dark Lord's power! By the time she returns it, it will be too late."

"You could buy another copy," Pansy suggested gently. He glared at her with great suspicion.

"Malfoys don't buy things. They send servants to buy things for them."

"That's what I meant," she said. Honestly. Draco was usually brilliant beyond all compare, in her opinion, but yelling at Potter cut his brainpower in half for the next couple hours. It was as bad as Blaise's crushes.

"Hmmph," said Draco.

"What does Granger want with a book about ritual sacrifice, anyway?" Pansy asked several minutes later, after the tin of biscuits had been found and everyone had perked up a bit.

"I have no idea," said Draco, glaring at a biscuit. "These are not working, Parkinson. I shall require chocolate." The mention of chocolate made Blaise sit up as well, with a pleading look that would easily turn into a pout if ignored.

Pansy sighed, but rummaged under her mattress and unearthed a box of chocolate-covered cherries. The last of her sweets for the month hastily disappeared. When one's friends included two pouting boys and one hulking vacuum cleaner, sweets never lasted long.

Blaise sighed contentedly, having managed to worm his way into the same armchair as Draco, who hadn't noticed. The sulking prince might be the only attractive boy their age to have escaped Blaise's crushes, but that didn't mean Blaise would ignore such an opportunity. She would have to have a talk with that boy. And with Millicent, who needed to learn to eat properly. In the meantime...

She cleared her throat.

"I trust you've all been thinking about the house party for Voldemort," she said. The boys both stared at her blankly; Millicent didn't even look up. "Don't tell me you've forgotten! It's tomorrow night. We have to drum up support among the younger students; some of them have heard too many good things about Potter."

Draco mumbled something about Potter, but as Pansy turned a Look on him, added, "And what are we supposed to be doing?"

"We want to take contributions and pledges," she said promptly, "but we also have to enlist volunteers to get more support from the general population. We can distribute pamphlets by setting up a Floo Bank, or maybe an Anonymous Owl Network. What do you think?"

"Can I invite Zacharias Smith?" asked Blaise, at the same time Draco asked, "Can we kidnap Potter and ask volunteers to prove their loyalty by torturing him?"

"No, and no," said Pansy. She felt like screaming, except of course that it would be far more proper and ladylike to faint, and she didn't want to do that. "We have to be discreet. Bringing anyone from other houses here would attract too much attention, not to mention break Slytherin rules. You know that if a member of another house enters our common room, we have to kill them."

"We could kill Potter," said Draco cheerfully. "After we torture him and taunt him with cleverly made badges, of course."

"No, we could not," Pansy replied. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"We could if I say we could," he said through clenched teeth.

"It just doesn't sound like a very good idea," she explained. "We don't want to kill Potter at this party." The boy's eyebrows shot up.

"You don't want to kill Potter? What's that supposed to mean? Are you sure you're loyal to the cause? How can we trust you?" As Draco babbled on and on, Pansy gave up in frustration and screamed as loudly as she could.