AN: If I owned them, I wouldn't be publishing on a fanfiction website, would I?
It was happening again. Her eyes were drawn to that particular Gryffindor every time she walked past. It wasn't even as though the bushy-haired girl was particularly pretty, but… there was something about her. She always seemed full of emotion, regardless of whether she was laughing with her friends or yelling at Draco Malfoy, which happened often. Pansy envied her that freedom, the freedom to express what she felt. Feelings are forbidden in Slytherin, unless it was hatred of Gryffindors and mudbloods, or pride in your own pureblooded status. Pansy felt neither of these – she had nothing against those who were not pureblood, and she didn't want to marry Draco Malfoy just to keep the bloodline pure. Despite all outward appearances, they did not get along. However, they had been betrothed at birth, and had to act like any other pureblood couple – haughty and aloof. That came naturally to Malfoy, but she had been forced to spend hours practising the requisite sneer in front of the mirror.
Then there were the clothes. Pansy hated the dress robes her mother chose. When would she learn that pink was just not Pansy's colour? Something darker would be better. But not green. She may be a Slytherin, but she didn't like it there, and didn't want to be reminded of it all the time.
"Get up, bitch." Draco Malfoy was pulling at her arm, so hard that she nearly fell off her chair and landed face first on the floor. Standing up, she exited the Great Hall, but not before one last look at the Gryffindor table. Hermione looked up, saw her, and smiled. Breaking all of the rules that had been drilled into her for as long as she could remember, Pansy smiled back.
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