Authors Note: Just a quick little idea for fun. I really NEED to write.
Side Notes: No spell check or grammar check, it isn't working right now! Bah.
Couple(s): Draco/Pansy slightly, but more friendship. Both are 17.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
~*~
"Don't be like that," she said rolling her amethyst colored eyes.
"Be like what?" He said as he straightened up on the willow bench.
"Be all stupid like that," she said, as though it were obvious. "Honestly, I know we're in Slytherin and we don't talk about feelings and all of those things. And I wouldn't want to talk about feelings with you anyway," a sly grin played across her thin face. "However, you're my best bloody friend and I'm entitled to something besides a snog once in a while, aren't I?"
"Oh Cee," he said, his voice softer, "I'm not going into this with you," he dismissed her. "You don't need to know about the Death Eater meetings, it isn't your place."
"Oh that's rich, coming from you. You think I don't know what it's like? Like I didn't hear anything about the Death Eater meetings from Mummy and Daddy who didn't have the good decency to speak quietly when they spoke of it. I'm tough and I'd go as far as to say I'm one of the toughest people in all the world, except for maybe you."
"I never insinuated that you were weak," he retorted.
"Yes you did," was the response. "Tough bones, it's a Slytherin thing. I thought you'd know that."
"You don't have to remind me of how tough you are," he said, gritting his teeth. "You'd have to be tough to be in Slytherin, much less be with me."
She took a dainty sip of pumpkin juice. "Maybe. You know, you're spectacular even if you are ridiculous sometimes."
Her eyes danced in the moonlight. "Why thank you," he said, more sarcastically than kindly. "I needed to be told that," even more sarcastically.
"You did," she said, keeping her voice quiet.
"It's too bad you had to hear details from the meetings," he said and his voice hardened. "It isn't the sort of thing that should be spoke about in front of ladies."
She had to admit; even though he was an awful pig sometimes he did have good manners. Although, as usual, they were wasted on Pansy who would rather have been told something entirely different.
"It was interesting," she shrugged as she pulled her green velvet cloak tighter around her shoulders.
"Right," he said. "Some of it is."
"Most of it is," she said. "Want to hear something funny?"
"Like 'Haha' funny, or like 'Heh' sort of funny?"
"Maybe it really isn't funny," she said. "It's more ironic."
"Tell."
"Sometimes I wanted to be like one of them, you know. The kind that go after blood and kill and cause pain to others. And it's awful, even for a Slytherin, isn't it? Because I was just a child, really."
"Cee," he said, as though beginning a very long speech. "You didn't know that you wanted."
"No," she said shaking her curly black head. "I did."
He scooted closer to her on the small bench as she put her head on his shoulder. "Maybe you did."
"Tell me," she said. "Tell me about what He did to you."
"Voldemort?"
"No the candy man, yes, Voldemort," she replied caustically as the wind whipped her hair into his gray eyes.
"No need to get sarcastic," he chided. "And I already told you, you don't need to know what happened."
"Look at you," she exclaimed. "Look at you! There's blood seeping through your white shirt and your black pants are all cut up and there's blood everywhere, even on my knee, now. And there's gashes on your face-"
"-and I'm fine."
"No you aren't! Even you know that, you aren't fine, you aren't okay. Not now, and maybe not ever."
"Cee, I was roughed up a bit. Nothing I couldn't take."
"Oh yeah you look real in control now, huh?"
"I advise you not to use that tone with me," he said, gritting his teeth through the sharp pains in his side.
"And who are you? My Father? Honestly. Now, I didn't want to get sentimental with you at all but especially not when you looked like you were on your death bed, but, I love you."
She straightened her maroon skirt and looked up at him. He smiled grimly down at her.
A steady look appeared on his pale face and he looked at her and said dryly, "You want me to say it don't you?"
"Yes," she said and nodded firmly. "Yes. But I don't need you to. But I'd like it, very much so. I know, I know, that you don't like that sort of thing. And I can't blame you because I don't either."
"I love you," he said. And it was more a fact than opinion. It was dry and clear, strong and unwavering.
"If I wanted to be dramatic I could say 'you're my rock'," she gushed. "But you aren't," she said stiffly as she adjusted her barrette.
"I think we've had enough for tonight," he agreed.
"How're you going to fix those bruises and broken ribs and those gashes? They look awful, your lip is so swollen!"
"Don't tell me your scared of a bit of blood," he said, almost chuckling.
"No," she said taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "I'm used to it. But that doesn't make it any better."
"No," he agreed, "perhaps it doesn't."
"We should get you to 'Mungos," she said, shaking her head.
He took a long sip of vodka. "And what would that do? No, I think I'm fine here."
"Outside on a bench so all of Knockturn Alley can see you? Somehow I doubt that," she said wryly.
"I don't," was the short reply. "Remember what you said, about being strong?"
"Yes."
"I think it's time for that. Tough bones, I think you'll understand." He winked at her out of his black eye and her heart almost skipped a beat.
She brushed a wispy strand of sugary white hair from his gray eyes.
"Go," he told her. "Go."
"Why can't I stay with you?"
"All night, are you barmy?"
"Maybe in love," she chuckled, "which is about the equivalent."
"No," he said. "You need to go home, I'll tend to these-" he pointed to a random bruise "-myself."
"I don't like that idea."
He rolled his eyes, it was just like Pansy to say, when he was in terrible pain 'I don't like that idea.'
"You may not like it," he said, "but that's the way it is."
"The way it is?"
"Yes."
"You won't tell me, will you?"
"About what he did to me?"
"Yes."
"No," he nodded. "I won't."
"Okay," she said. "But I could take it, you know."
"Oh, I know you could," he grinned sincerely.
She picked up her flask of pumpkin juice and gingerly kissed his forehead. "Tough bones," she smiled.
"Tough bones," he repeated as he kissed her fragile, pale hand.
~*~
La Fin
Side Notes: No spell check or grammar check, it isn't working right now! Bah.
Couple(s): Draco/Pansy slightly, but more friendship. Both are 17.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
~*~
"Don't be like that," she said rolling her amethyst colored eyes.
"Be like what?" He said as he straightened up on the willow bench.
"Be all stupid like that," she said, as though it were obvious. "Honestly, I know we're in Slytherin and we don't talk about feelings and all of those things. And I wouldn't want to talk about feelings with you anyway," a sly grin played across her thin face. "However, you're my best bloody friend and I'm entitled to something besides a snog once in a while, aren't I?"
"Oh Cee," he said, his voice softer, "I'm not going into this with you," he dismissed her. "You don't need to know about the Death Eater meetings, it isn't your place."
"Oh that's rich, coming from you. You think I don't know what it's like? Like I didn't hear anything about the Death Eater meetings from Mummy and Daddy who didn't have the good decency to speak quietly when they spoke of it. I'm tough and I'd go as far as to say I'm one of the toughest people in all the world, except for maybe you."
"I never insinuated that you were weak," he retorted.
"Yes you did," was the response. "Tough bones, it's a Slytherin thing. I thought you'd know that."
"You don't have to remind me of how tough you are," he said, gritting his teeth. "You'd have to be tough to be in Slytherin, much less be with me."
She took a dainty sip of pumpkin juice. "Maybe. You know, you're spectacular even if you are ridiculous sometimes."
Her eyes danced in the moonlight. "Why thank you," he said, more sarcastically than kindly. "I needed to be told that," even more sarcastically.
"You did," she said, keeping her voice quiet.
"It's too bad you had to hear details from the meetings," he said and his voice hardened. "It isn't the sort of thing that should be spoke about in front of ladies."
She had to admit; even though he was an awful pig sometimes he did have good manners. Although, as usual, they were wasted on Pansy who would rather have been told something entirely different.
"It was interesting," she shrugged as she pulled her green velvet cloak tighter around her shoulders.
"Right," he said. "Some of it is."
"Most of it is," she said. "Want to hear something funny?"
"Like 'Haha' funny, or like 'Heh' sort of funny?"
"Maybe it really isn't funny," she said. "It's more ironic."
"Tell."
"Sometimes I wanted to be like one of them, you know. The kind that go after blood and kill and cause pain to others. And it's awful, even for a Slytherin, isn't it? Because I was just a child, really."
"Cee," he said, as though beginning a very long speech. "You didn't know that you wanted."
"No," she said shaking her curly black head. "I did."
He scooted closer to her on the small bench as she put her head on his shoulder. "Maybe you did."
"Tell me," she said. "Tell me about what He did to you."
"Voldemort?"
"No the candy man, yes, Voldemort," she replied caustically as the wind whipped her hair into his gray eyes.
"No need to get sarcastic," he chided. "And I already told you, you don't need to know what happened."
"Look at you," she exclaimed. "Look at you! There's blood seeping through your white shirt and your black pants are all cut up and there's blood everywhere, even on my knee, now. And there's gashes on your face-"
"-and I'm fine."
"No you aren't! Even you know that, you aren't fine, you aren't okay. Not now, and maybe not ever."
"Cee, I was roughed up a bit. Nothing I couldn't take."
"Oh yeah you look real in control now, huh?"
"I advise you not to use that tone with me," he said, gritting his teeth through the sharp pains in his side.
"And who are you? My Father? Honestly. Now, I didn't want to get sentimental with you at all but especially not when you looked like you were on your death bed, but, I love you."
She straightened her maroon skirt and looked up at him. He smiled grimly down at her.
A steady look appeared on his pale face and he looked at her and said dryly, "You want me to say it don't you?"
"Yes," she said and nodded firmly. "Yes. But I don't need you to. But I'd like it, very much so. I know, I know, that you don't like that sort of thing. And I can't blame you because I don't either."
"I love you," he said. And it was more a fact than opinion. It was dry and clear, strong and unwavering.
"If I wanted to be dramatic I could say 'you're my rock'," she gushed. "But you aren't," she said stiffly as she adjusted her barrette.
"I think we've had enough for tonight," he agreed.
"How're you going to fix those bruises and broken ribs and those gashes? They look awful, your lip is so swollen!"
"Don't tell me your scared of a bit of blood," he said, almost chuckling.
"No," she said taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "I'm used to it. But that doesn't make it any better."
"No," he agreed, "perhaps it doesn't."
"We should get you to 'Mungos," she said, shaking her head.
He took a long sip of vodka. "And what would that do? No, I think I'm fine here."
"Outside on a bench so all of Knockturn Alley can see you? Somehow I doubt that," she said wryly.
"I don't," was the short reply. "Remember what you said, about being strong?"
"Yes."
"I think it's time for that. Tough bones, I think you'll understand." He winked at her out of his black eye and her heart almost skipped a beat.
She brushed a wispy strand of sugary white hair from his gray eyes.
"Go," he told her. "Go."
"Why can't I stay with you?"
"All night, are you barmy?"
"Maybe in love," she chuckled, "which is about the equivalent."
"No," he said. "You need to go home, I'll tend to these-" he pointed to a random bruise "-myself."
"I don't like that idea."
He rolled his eyes, it was just like Pansy to say, when he was in terrible pain 'I don't like that idea.'
"You may not like it," he said, "but that's the way it is."
"The way it is?"
"Yes."
"You won't tell me, will you?"
"About what he did to me?"
"Yes."
"No," he nodded. "I won't."
"Okay," she said. "But I could take it, you know."
"Oh, I know you could," he grinned sincerely.
She picked up her flask of pumpkin juice and gingerly kissed his forehead. "Tough bones," she smiled.
"Tough bones," he repeated as he kissed her fragile, pale hand.
~*~
La Fin