Slytherin Loyalties
Draco frowned at the letter tightly clutched in his hand. That wasn't good. Not at all good. Pansy entered the common room wearily and slumped down into one of the dark-green velvet armchairs facing the elegant fireplace. She looked towards him, a concerned look appearing in her eyes.
"What's wrong Draco ?"
He looked at her eloquently.
"Oh. Bad news from home, right?"
She seemed to melt further into the comforting warmth of her chair.
"Haven't heard from my parents in ages. I wonder if. Draco, there isn't anything about them in that letter, is there ?"
He winced at the dread tingeing her words. She looked terribly pale, and he suspected she hadn't been sleeping much these last weeks. How was he supposed to tell her? She looked. fragile, dwarfed in that immense armchair.
The uncertain look in his eye was enough to confirm her suspicions. Draco quenched his urge to protect her from the blow the news would inevitably cause, remembering that Pansy was not one to be fussed around. He shuddered, recalling what had happened to the last of her boyfriends when he had tried to do just that. Pity this kind of information was strictly kept to the Slytherin common room: it would have made the Potter gang think twice about scorning her. But scorn wasn't what she despised most. An enemy who spoke daggers at her at least considered her apt to take it.
"Tell me. Damn, tell me Draco! Just bloody hell *tell* me."
Her eyes sparkled with determination, and something akin to anger. He shoved the parchment into her hand without comment. Words of comfort could do little, and he had never been good at them anyway. Slytherins dealt with things the harsh way. Not to mention the fact that comfort would have probably made her uncomfortable, to top it all off. She paled visibly as her eyes travelled over the script.
"What will you do? Bow, Flight or Fight, Drac?"
She laughed bitterly, and he gave her one of his rare smiles, albeit worn and tense, at the use of that phrase. They had been children once, and played this game. She would search for him throughout the Malfoy Mansion, and having cornered him, ask the question. But it wasn't a game anymore, and they wouldn't escape unharmed but for the occasional shiner. Her harsh laughter turned to dry sobs. No tears. Never. He stood behind her chair gravely considering her, the fire, the carved snake on the mantelpiece, and finally answered in the only way he possibly could:
"I have no idea".
They were silent for a while, and then she talked, not looking at him, deep blue eyes staring into the flames.
"Drac, if I chose Bow. would you blame me? If we had to fight on opposite sides. if, say, I chose that, and you didn't. would you denounce me?"
Her voice was stern and devoid of emotion, but he recognised his own defence system in that expressionlessness. After all, they *had* been trained together for many years, before Hogwarts, before they even knew there were alternatives. But were there? This line of thought brought him back to her question, which was even more disturbing to think about, if that was possible. Be loyal to the side you have chosen or to your childhood friend? A side encompassing the Gryffindors, these foolhardy, heroic, stupid, self-satisfied and assuming nuisances, encompassing -he shuddered- the self-righteous Harry Potter, who for all his supposed perfection could not find in him enough intelligence to grasp the fact that the Slytherins actually had it harder than him? Who had to make their life even worse, at that?
He looked back at her. She was staring at him intently, as if trying to read his mind, which she probably could, he reflected. Her light, indefinably coloured hair was drawn back in a tight bun, doing nothing to soften the harsh lines of her features, prominent cheekbones, deeply shadowed, sunken marine eyes, or the drawn and tense lines in her face. So different from the carefree girl who chased him through the shadowed corridors of his house. Her hair had been short, then, and perpetually tousled, and she had been a tomboyish solid little person, so little like the tired, hardened young woman she now was. And yet she was still Pansy. He had grown to respect her, and even to like her for what she had become, in spite of all outward behaviour, outside of the privacy Slytherin territory. She'd have killed him, had he tried to defend her, thus hinting that she was a weakling. Playing the fool was her mask, and he had nothing but to respect that.
Would he denounce her? The answer came to him naturally, and he realised that he had known all along. To answer otherwise would have been deprecatory.
"I would. You knew that, didn't you ?"
She smiled at him, a true smile. A smile that made his heart break at his decision but also comforted him in it.
"What about you? Bow, Flight or Fight, Pansy ? Are you really going to Bow?"
"Do not look at me for guidance. I don't want your mistakes on my conscience. I'll make my choice, and you will make yours. Hopefully." and she lowered her voice, muttering something he would never have expected her to, "we'll be on the same side".
It took him a while to process what she had said, and she left, visibly embarrassed at her tampering with personal ethics. That she could have said something so. was amazing it itself. Between them, such things were known on both sides, but left unsaid. It helped prevent eventual guilt, should they have to act at each other's disadvantage.
Well.. he took out a sheet of parchment, and swiftly scribbled a few words. Then taking out his wand, he tapped it briefly, muttering "Chep".
In the seventh year's dormitory, underneath Pansy's closed and charm-sealed canopy, a piece of parchment appeared. It read:
"Let me know on the night before Initiation. Please."
Draco frowned at the letter tightly clutched in his hand. That wasn't good. Not at all good. Pansy entered the common room wearily and slumped down into one of the dark-green velvet armchairs facing the elegant fireplace. She looked towards him, a concerned look appearing in her eyes.
"What's wrong Draco ?"
He looked at her eloquently.
"Oh. Bad news from home, right?"
She seemed to melt further into the comforting warmth of her chair.
"Haven't heard from my parents in ages. I wonder if. Draco, there isn't anything about them in that letter, is there ?"
He winced at the dread tingeing her words. She looked terribly pale, and he suspected she hadn't been sleeping much these last weeks. How was he supposed to tell her? She looked. fragile, dwarfed in that immense armchair.
The uncertain look in his eye was enough to confirm her suspicions. Draco quenched his urge to protect her from the blow the news would inevitably cause, remembering that Pansy was not one to be fussed around. He shuddered, recalling what had happened to the last of her boyfriends when he had tried to do just that. Pity this kind of information was strictly kept to the Slytherin common room: it would have made the Potter gang think twice about scorning her. But scorn wasn't what she despised most. An enemy who spoke daggers at her at least considered her apt to take it.
"Tell me. Damn, tell me Draco! Just bloody hell *tell* me."
Her eyes sparkled with determination, and something akin to anger. He shoved the parchment into her hand without comment. Words of comfort could do little, and he had never been good at them anyway. Slytherins dealt with things the harsh way. Not to mention the fact that comfort would have probably made her uncomfortable, to top it all off. She paled visibly as her eyes travelled over the script.
"What will you do? Bow, Flight or Fight, Drac?"
She laughed bitterly, and he gave her one of his rare smiles, albeit worn and tense, at the use of that phrase. They had been children once, and played this game. She would search for him throughout the Malfoy Mansion, and having cornered him, ask the question. But it wasn't a game anymore, and they wouldn't escape unharmed but for the occasional shiner. Her harsh laughter turned to dry sobs. No tears. Never. He stood behind her chair gravely considering her, the fire, the carved snake on the mantelpiece, and finally answered in the only way he possibly could:
"I have no idea".
They were silent for a while, and then she talked, not looking at him, deep blue eyes staring into the flames.
"Drac, if I chose Bow. would you blame me? If we had to fight on opposite sides. if, say, I chose that, and you didn't. would you denounce me?"
Her voice was stern and devoid of emotion, but he recognised his own defence system in that expressionlessness. After all, they *had* been trained together for many years, before Hogwarts, before they even knew there were alternatives. But were there? This line of thought brought him back to her question, which was even more disturbing to think about, if that was possible. Be loyal to the side you have chosen or to your childhood friend? A side encompassing the Gryffindors, these foolhardy, heroic, stupid, self-satisfied and assuming nuisances, encompassing -he shuddered- the self-righteous Harry Potter, who for all his supposed perfection could not find in him enough intelligence to grasp the fact that the Slytherins actually had it harder than him? Who had to make their life even worse, at that?
He looked back at her. She was staring at him intently, as if trying to read his mind, which she probably could, he reflected. Her light, indefinably coloured hair was drawn back in a tight bun, doing nothing to soften the harsh lines of her features, prominent cheekbones, deeply shadowed, sunken marine eyes, or the drawn and tense lines in her face. So different from the carefree girl who chased him through the shadowed corridors of his house. Her hair had been short, then, and perpetually tousled, and she had been a tomboyish solid little person, so little like the tired, hardened young woman she now was. And yet she was still Pansy. He had grown to respect her, and even to like her for what she had become, in spite of all outward behaviour, outside of the privacy Slytherin territory. She'd have killed him, had he tried to defend her, thus hinting that she was a weakling. Playing the fool was her mask, and he had nothing but to respect that.
Would he denounce her? The answer came to him naturally, and he realised that he had known all along. To answer otherwise would have been deprecatory.
"I would. You knew that, didn't you ?"
She smiled at him, a true smile. A smile that made his heart break at his decision but also comforted him in it.
"What about you? Bow, Flight or Fight, Pansy ? Are you really going to Bow?"
"Do not look at me for guidance. I don't want your mistakes on my conscience. I'll make my choice, and you will make yours. Hopefully." and she lowered her voice, muttering something he would never have expected her to, "we'll be on the same side".
It took him a while to process what she had said, and she left, visibly embarrassed at her tampering with personal ethics. That she could have said something so. was amazing it itself. Between them, such things were known on both sides, but left unsaid. It helped prevent eventual guilt, should they have to act at each other's disadvantage.
Well.. he took out a sheet of parchment, and swiftly scribbled a few words. Then taking out his wand, he tapped it briefly, muttering "Chep".
In the seventh year's dormitory, underneath Pansy's closed and charm-sealed canopy, a piece of parchment appeared. It read:
"Let me know on the night before Initiation. Please."