What You'll Sorely Miss

"Weasley?" fourteen-year-old Draco Malfoy laughed heartily. "Of anyone and anything in the school, Potter would most sorely miss Weasley?"

His minions laughed along with him stupidly, looking blankly about the room. Several older students looked over at the boys, watching in interest.

"Well I never would have thought Potter would be flying with that Quidditch team," the blonde continued loudly. "Though, after all they are quite close."

Many of the older students just rolled their eyes and went back to their usual activities, bored with the boy's rants.

"I thought Potter played for Gryffindor?" Crabbe asked stupidly. "Where's he playing now?"

"Catching the cup will be easier now that he switched teams," Goyle added helpfully.

The older students who had been still been listening snickered and turned away. The juvenile conversation of a spoiled little rich brat and his stupid companions wasn't worth listening to. Draco sighed noticing his lack of audience.

"You know, Draco," a cool voice said from behind him. "That poem doesn't mean that Potter is bent."

"Pansy," Draco greeted her coolly. "I don't believe you were invited to this conversation. It is a private discussion."

Pansy looked at the bulky forms of Crabbe and Goyle and nearly choked on her snicker. Crabbe sat and looked about the room in stupor, picking his nose and Goyle hummed a tune reminiscent of Old MacDonald while making animal shapes in the flickering candle light.

"Well by all means," Pansy gave her most irritating smirk. "Continue."

"Look Draco!" Goyle called out suddenly. "I made a bunny, hip-hop, hip-hop!"

Looking horrified Draco turned back to Pansy.

"Sit, Parkinson," he sneered at her.

She stood and glared at him, "I'm not your dog Draco Malfoy."

"Please sit, Parkinson," he spat out.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," she snapped sarcastically, plopping down beside him. "Your theory on Potter and Weasley is all wrong."

"The poem clearly stated, 'We've taken what you'll sorely miss', obviously Potter fancies Weasley," he corrected her smugly.

"No," she said. "Think about it. Potter doesn't have many friends, real friends, that is. Weasley and Granger are all he has. If he were to lose either of them, he'd be lost. They make him who he is, you know."

Draco gaped at her. "So if Potter accepted my offer of friendship back in first year, I'd have been in the lake?"

"I don't know about that Draco," she smirked, rising from beside him. "I find it hard to believe you'd be sorely missed."

"Not funny, Pansy," he snapped, tugging her back down beside him. "What makes you so sure he's not a poof?"

"He has an infatuation with that Ravenclaw seeker," Pansy pointed out. "And Weasley has it pretty bad for Granger."

"The Mudblood?" Draco asked, his eyebrows rising. "They fight like Kneazles and rats!"

"That's were the true attraction lies," she shrugged.

"How do you know all of this?" his jaw dropped.

She smoothed down her skirt and regarded him with a disappointed sigh. "Honestly Draco, I pay attention. The whole school was buzzing about the Potter/Chang/Cedric triangle."

"So he's Cedric now, is he?" he snorted. "Going soft for the pretty boy then?"

Pansy blushed, "He's a nice boy. He's really brilliant."

"A Hufflepuff?" he hissed, looking green. "Brilliant? Sure about as brilliant as that great oaf trying to teach Care of Magical Creatures!"

"Cedric is a decent wizard and a Pureblood," Pansy's temper flared. "You don't even know the meaning of the word nice Draco Malfoy, so don't even start!"

"So would he be what you'd sorely miss then?" he taunted her. "Would you miss your ickle Hufflepuffy?"

She sent him a frosty glare. "At least I have someone who I'd sorely miss! What would you most sorely miss if it was gone? Would it be your own reflection or maybe your stupid broom? "

She rose and stalked up to her dormitory, leaving him sneering where she once sat. He looked up at Crabbe and Goyle, but found them sleeping on the couch. To his disgust a blob of drool was hanging from Goyle's mouth and Crabbe's finger was still jammed up his nose.

Realizing that company had become dull, Draco shuffled across the rooms and to his dormitory. He dressed for bed and turned down the silver sheets, thinking about his discussion with that irksome Pansy Parkinson. He didn't understand the change in her after the Yule Ball that year. He didn't do anything to make her act so coldly towards him, in fact, he complimented her that night by telling her that "the stuff she was wearing on her face made her nose look less squashed than normal". He had no idea why she was so angry with him.

"Rubbish!" He muttered angrily, climbing in bed and shutting off the lamp. He closed his eyes and fell to dreams of fighting merpeople to save a girl in a Slytherin robe; bearing an alarming resemblance to Pansy. The mermaids were chanting gleefully, "Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

He awoke abruptly and crept out of the dormitory to the common room, unable to sleep. Crabbe and Goyle still lay curled up together as he had left them; on the couch where he had been sitting earlier, lay Pansy.

Her dark hair was pulled up in tight coils all over her head and she rested her head on both her arms. Her silky black pajama set contrasted sharply with the pale skin of her neck. Draco stared at her as she slept, wondering when Pansy Parkinson had become decent looking. He had the sudden urge to go over to her and kiss her in a way that would make his mother blush; it terrified him.

She stirred in her sleep and Draco looked away, down at the common room floor.

"Draco," she murmured sleepily. "Draco, are you there?"

He stayed silent and backed into the shadows. He watched as the rise and fall of her chest became shallow as she fell asleep once again.

When he was certain that she had fallen into a deep sleep, he snuck up to the couch, fully intending to wake her up. He crouched down so he was eye-level with her head and found that he couldn't. Her eyes were closed and her breath tickled his face gently.

"You were wrong Pansy," he whispered. "I do have someone I'd sorely miss."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead, in a quick kiss. He felt his face heating up as he turned on his heel and fled for his dormitory.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was in a fitful slumber.

"Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching ponder this:

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour- the prospect's black,

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, page 463 (American Edition)