Author's Notice: This is weird, I blame it on me listening to too much Brand New lately, I love them, they're my favorite 'angry' band but I'm not angry 'cause I had a doughnut this morning. 3. And I'm going to a party tonight. So yeah, anyway. This is odd, really odd...it's pretty cool, I think. I'm having writer's block, okay? Don't expect anything fantastic :P
She wore too much makeup. The slightest bit of rose-colored rouge for her cheeks. Dark, thick, black mascara for her eyelashes, perfectly applied. Blue eyeshadow, all the rage. Sparkling.
She took a deep breath and didn't move from the green velvet sofa. She drank a sip of hot coffee, opened up the morning newspaper, nothing had changed. She read about the Ministry, the aurors, Hogwarts, nothing had changed. She looked at her owl, no letter from him, maybe one thing changed, but that was all. She had done it.
The rain continued to pour as she stared out the glossy window, "you never stop, do you?" She said, to no one but herself. "You never stop raining...you never stop raining..."
The rain didn't respond, it just kept raining.
"What did I do?" She said to herself, her feet propped on the table, her voice became frantic, "what did I do?" I didn't...didn't kill him, oh, I didn't. I'd never kill him, I love him and he loves me, I'd never kill him...I didn't, when the Ministry comes I'll tell them, I didn't, I didn't...I never would, I don't think--don't think--but I was so angry and he was so loud and I just, I had to get away, I don't know, I just had to get away, I couldn't stop I couldn't let him win I couldn't let him hurt me anymore, but we were gonna get married...gonna go get married and have children but his voice was so loud, I thought he was going to hurt me--I didn't know what to do so I just, I don't know...I didn't kill him, I'll tell them that, didn't kill him, I wouldn't, I wouldn't, I'm good...I'm good, I swear, I know I'm a Slytherin but I wouldn't, you believe me don't you? Oh, God, oh God. I didn't...someone, please, someone.
She remembered more than can be written with ink and paper, more than can be said. She remembered he would tell her that they were best friends, the very best of friends. She always believed him--always believed him, never stopped beliving him.
"You're a real winner, Draco," she teased, "you'll be my very best friend, right? If you don't I'll go mad...I'll," she broke off.
"I'll always be your best friend, Pansy."
"You'll never yell at me Draco, will you? Never ever, ever...?"
"I won't."
"Would you like a biscuit? I made them myself."
"Sure. It's your Mother's recipe, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. She makes them better than me...I'm not a cook, I can't do anything, I'm not a..."
"Pansy, they're fine."
"Oh."
"You look sad."
"I'm not sad, Draco, darling, I'm fine. I had a hard test in Potions...it was very hard, but I'm fine now. Being with you...I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Don't worry about me, I'm not worth worrying about."
"Pansy?"
"What?"
"You'll tell me if some thing's wrong."
"I know. I will."
"Okay, want to make a snowman?"
"Okay but only if we use your scarf for 'round his neck, I lost my scarf last time."
"Look out!"
"Don't you throw snowballs at me!"
"Throw one back...I dare you."
She picked up a photo. She was wearing her Yuleball robes, they were white with tiny black bows all over them. She stood by him, his arm around her, a smirk on his face, a big grin on hers, she was looking up at him, her eyes dancing. Fourth year, just fourteen.
She put the photo back where it belonged, and peered out the window.
He told her she'd have to go to Saint Mungos, he was yelling at her so loudly her ears rung. "You're killing yourself!"
"You promised you'd never ever yell at me, never ever!"
"Tomorrow morning, eight o'clock, I'm taking you there...they can help you, I can't help you. I have a job, I have a wife, I have children, I can't help you."
"Why didn't you marry me? You never ever...why didn't you?"
"We're friends, Pansy--friends! Do you understand? Don't you...? Don't worry, you'll be fine, they'll make you feel better, Pansy. They can help you."
"You can help me! Draco, you can help me, you used to help me..."
"Pansy," he got very quiet and just hugged her, "you know I'd do anything for you."
"You got married. You had children. I'm by myself, in that cold house, I have...no one, not even you anymore."
"Don't say that, Pansy. We're...best friends, aren't we?"
"Best friends," she said.
She took out her wand, slowly and carefully and before he had time to see what she was doing, that was the end of him. Two words and he was gone forever.
Forever.
"You're Mr. Malfoy's dearest friend," the Minister said. "Surely you know something about his death."
"I don't know anything, Minister," she said, twisting her ring around her finger.
"You don't know anything? No ideas? I find that hard to believe."
"We were best friends," she said, pushing her blond hair away from her eyes. "You wouldn't understand."
"This must be very hard for you."
"Of course," she said, "he was my best friend."
"You two knew each other for a very long time..."
"Since we were born, yeah."
"You killed him, didn't you? He threatened to take you to Mungos and you killed him? You used that wand," he pointed to the one on the table, "and you blew him away."
She was very quiet, "what do you think, Minister?"
"You're coming with us."
She died in Azkaban, sixty seven years old with gray hair and robes that were too big for her. She faded away to skin and bones, stringy hair and dull eyes. She painted with the parchment and blue paint they somtimes gave her, sometimes smearing the paint over her eyelids, eyeshadow. Sometimes black paint for her eyelashes, mascara. Red paint for her cheeks, rouge. It was hard to make out her face with the smeared paint all over it, but Draco could've seen through it.
Draco could see through everything.
End.