Pansy's Revenge

Draco Malfoy on a sofa, S-I-T-T-I-N-G. First comes - oops. Narrator got carried away there. He's just next to Crabbe and Goyle.

"Pssst, Draco. Uh, how do you, uh, pronounce this," Goyle whispers. He's pointing to a two-foot long scroll that only contains the words "I'm" and "stupid."

Draco reads the text - if it can be called that - and a loud series of guffaws resonate from the room.

More annoyed than amused, Draco retaliates: "Oh, honestly, Goyle. Did that take you a whole hour to think up? I'm disappointed. You could have done better. Try these two words: 'Get' and 'bent'"

And with that, the boy rises from his seat and walks over to his bed. (If you're wondering about Crabbe and Goyle, well, they're still trying to understand the joke. Not too bright, you see.) Draco makes sure that he's alone and opens up his trunk. The first thing he sees is the thick wad of Pansy's letters. All of them are heavily perfumed. Draco picks the first one up and opens it.

Dearest Draco,

It has been two days since we last spoken. I am missing you dreadfully. Please write back as soon as possible.

Love,

Pansy

Draco remembers writing her that he is very sorry, but no matter how many times he has tried to decipher the message, he has been unable to do so.

Ah, memories.

Pansy was truly annoying, but the real reason as to why Draco ended their relationship was Potter. Harry I'm-so-bloody-fantastic Potter. Who knew that somewhere, somehow, his intense hatred of that boy would turn into an obsession that would later morph into desire? To run his fingers through Potter's hair, to touch that exposed neck, to kiss those utterly kissable lips, to share a simple caress - that would be heaven. For one moment alone with him, Draco would give five years of his life away. To know that the boy feels the same way, he would do anything. Anything.

--

Professor Snape had saved the day. He stormed into the empty classroom/dungeon room, which Pansy began calling The-Room-That-Must-Not-Ever-Be-Named, and herded the Sixth Years off. Then he turned towards her and an awkward silence ensued. Before the Potions master could utter a single word, Pansy broke into a run and fled the scene. There was no way in hell that she would talk to that man about her boyfriend troubles.

Now, Pansy sits quietly in a corner of the library, looking very much like that Granger girl. Her nose is several inches away from her scroll and her quill is ready to use. But her mind is blank. Oh wait! The wheels are turning. Let's have a look inside:

No, no, no. Hexes won't do. I need something more. Something bigger. Something - something like...BINGO! I know that Malfoy the Bastard likes Potter. Whoa, that was the understatement of the century. I've seen him open his trunk and search through all that junk to finger the other boy's lost scarf. How about I expose that dirty, little secret in the Great Hall? No, no, no. Something better. (A long pause) Eu-fucking-reka!

Wasn't that fun? Sure it was. But one more question remains: What is her idea? Let's just say that she titled it "Pansy's Revenge." It's a little strange, but it's quite a good idea, really.

--

Potions Classroom. Very Smelly. Snape, as usual, decides to partner the Slytherins with the Gryffindors. Draco is willing to kiss his professor's feet at this moment, because Snape has just told him to work with Potter. A silent Yippee! is in order. Draco, however, needs to pretend that this is horrible news.

"Professor, I don't think that it's fair for intelligent Slytherins, such as myself, to have to work with these Gryffindor dunderheads," he drawls.

"Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. Get to your station and begin."

Draco turns around to find Potter laughing silently. The boy has already started collecting the needed ingredients.

"Fine," mutters Draco. "I'll work with you, but I don't want to." Oh, that was wonderful, thinks Draco. What the flying fuck was I thinking, saying "but I don't want to"?

The next half hour is pretty uneventful, except for the incident when a bit of daisy root manages to fly up to Potter's hair. Absently, Draco reaches towards the boy and pulls it off. Potter simply stares at him with wide, open eyes. Beautiful, wide eyes. Concentrate, Draco, or - too late. He is supposed to add the dried nettles after the fluxweed, not before. The mixture in the cauldron glows violently orange for a moment and then stops bubbling. Then a loud, hissing sound escapes. Uh oh. This means only one thing.

"Watch out! It's going to blow!" someone shouts from the back of the room.

Absolute chaos. Students are running around in circles, not sure whether to run for safety or to wait for their partners to follow them. Nobody is listening to Snape. Running is the only thing on Draco's mind. And run he does, but not very far. Two leaps towards the door and he is shoved back forcefully. The next thing he knows is that he is lying splat on his back with something very warm, breathing heavily on top of him.

"Sorry," the Warm Thing wheezes.

"Make sure that your feet never step on my cloak again. I think I broke my back..."

"Your cloak was in my way, Malfoy. Now get off of me!"

"Potter?"

"Yeah."

"Get off of me, you pouf."

Actually, Draco is wishing that the boy would stay there. Potter's breathing is hypnotic. His spine tingles as the butterflies bounce around in his stomach. All too soon, the cauldron gives off a high pitched scream and explodes.

Complete darkness and then the face of old Madam Pomfrey.

--

Now is my time to shine, thinks Pansy. She has followed Ron Weasley up to the Hospital Wing. Weasley pauses by the door, knowing that Pomfrey will not let him in to see Harry. He stands quietly by the door.

Pansy gets an idea. "Do you think that they're going to be alright?" she asks in her most concerned tone.

Weasley narrows his eyes at her.

Squint all you want, Weasel, she thinks.

"I, uh, hope so," he replies. "The burns looked pretty serious."

"Yeah. It's generally a bad sign to have sizzling, acid-green splotches on your body. I'm worried."

"Me too. Harry's a good person. He doesn't deserve to be in pain," and after a moment he adds, "neither does Malfoy, I guess."

Pansy pretends to get dizzy, and Ron steadies her. He's eating out of the palm of my hand - I wonder just how much I can get from him, she muses.

"I guess I'm just very hungry. I haven't eaten all day, but I don't want to be seen by anyone else. I don't know what to do."

Ron notices that she has an alluring air of vulnerability around her. He likes this and decides to help her out.

"Pansy, you know, I have a stash of some cookies in my trunk. Everyone is at Dinner right now. If we go to Gryffindor Tower, I can get some."

"That would be wonderful," says Pansy sweetly.

This is too perfect for her. Not only does she have Ron, she has an opportunity to look around the dorm room. Maybe even go through Potter's trunk. Oh, the possibilities for revenge.

They walk side by side. Pansy notes that Weasley really is quite ugly, with his orange hair sticking out of his misshaped head.

At last they reach the room. After some accidental touching - oh, who is she kidding; she planned the rubbing - The Great Orange Weasel blushes furiously.

Excellent, thinks Pansy. He likes me. A few more days and he'll do anything for me.

"Pumpkin Beans," says Weasel to the Fat Lady.

The portrait swings smoothly, but before they can enter, something large bumps into Pansy. Something large and invisible. Potter. His cloak. Pansy starts some serious thinking. Before Ron can even ask her if she is alright, she turns around and runs past him, heading for Slytherin. Pansy's Revenge is ready.