Author's Note: A song piece starring no other than Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. This takes place before the whole Dumbledore incident in the sixth book, surely you've heard of the one, right? You know, when Draco was ordered to kill the old man, and he couldn't? And then Snape and Draco poofed into the dark?
Well, this is shortly before then, okay? Oh, and the song is Nineteen Stars by Meg and Dia. This is just part one of what promises to be a several parter, if I get enough interest in it. I'm rather proud of it. But I'm dying to see if anyone else likes it.

Disclaimer: I admit that I don't own any of the characters in the following story, or the lyrics to the song. The lyrics belong to the fabulous Meg and Dia, and the characters belong to some woman named JKR, or something like that. I heard she was British?

There was something wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. And she couldn't, not even using her fine-tuned observing skills and investigating skills, figure it out. Usually she was so bloody good at reading people (a pleasure of Pansy's that rivaled Granger's book reading smarts), that just from a glance at a person could tell her everything she needed to know about their whole life. But damned if Draco wasn't doing a tip top job making it nearly impossible for Pansy to figure anything out.

Of course, no one could ignore the physical changes that had occurred to the young boy. That normally to die for, creamy complexion had faded to a sickly, gray pallor that didn't make him look like the devastatingly handsome boy everyone knew him as. There were bags under his eyes that even beauty spells couldn't get rid of. And even though his hair was still slicked into submission, it didn't shine like it used to. In short, in less than four months, Pansy went from brightening each time Draco entered the room, to becoming endlessly worried.

Don't tell me
you're done for.
I don't need to hear
you're done for.

Finally she'd cornered him in the common room one night, when it was deserted but for the two of them. She'd gone right up to him, while he sat slouched in a chair, uncharacteristically quiet and brooding. "Draco." Pansy whispered, placing a small hand on his forearm.

Immediately, the boy had jumped and grabbed his wand from his side, brandishing it in protection. The tip was pressed against Pansy's temple before either could blink. Both chests were rising and falling with a frightening speed, until Draco seemed to come to his senses. "Pansy... You frightened me." The boy whispered, dropping his hand to his side, and collapsing back onto the chair.

Pansy regained her calm, even though her heart was pounding a great amount. He was just antsy, is all. She caught him off guard. That's all. "Never, in the sixteen years we've known each 

other, have I ever scared you, Draco." She whispered, sitting in a chair close to his. Something told her that he valued his own room.

"Well, there's always a first time, right?" Draco replied, voice hard and lifeless. There was something terribly wrong, Pansy thought again. Draco used his voice as a reflection of his feelings he was not allowed to physically show. "I'm just preoccupied. That's all."

A lie, and they both know it. But Pansy takes it in stride, crossing her arms over her chest with a snide smile. "Haven't seen you at any of the parties lately, darling... Don't tell me you're betraying your house and sneaking out to shag some Gryffindor on the Quidditch field?"

His eyes narrowed, as if to retaliate. But then something snapped in him, Pansy could see the change in his eyes, clear as day. "Oh Pans, how you can be so calm right now... I'd kill for your attitude." Draco took his head in his hands, massaging at his temples in vain. "I'm struggling right now, isn't it obvious, love?" His voice was muffled, and she was having a very hard time figuring out what he was saying.

You can tell me what you are running from.
I need you
more than you needed you.
I can see you're really really running,
can I ask you where you gonna run to?

"Draco, it's only sixth year. Next year is when we have to start worrying. Don't let your parents get to you, darling." Pansy said stupidly, thinking this was the pressure he was struggling under. As if, right now, schoolwork was on his mind at all. Because if that was the case, Pansy would have taken on some of his workload, if that would restore him to his normal state.

"I'll be leaving shortly, Pans." He whispered, looking up at her, and in another uncharacteristic act, took her hand.

Pansy blinked, feeling rather confused. "Well, of course, darling. We're all leaving soon. It's nearly the end of the term." Why was Draco acting like a dead man walking? A few mediocre notes wouldn't be the end of him. Why on earth was he worrying so?

Draco shook his head sadly. "No, Pansy, you don't understand. I'm leaving sooner than that. I've got to. It's necessary."



"Is it your mother? Is she ill?" She asked with a certain amount of sadness. Narcissa was a beautiful woman, even if she didn't look at Pansy with much fondness.

Draco shook his head again. "No, thank Merlin, she's not. But I'm afraid I can't tell you more... All you can know is that I'm leaving soon." With those words, he got up and went to his bed, never once looking back. If he had, he'd have seen Pansy staring intently at the place he'd just occupied, and more importantly, her hand, as if she was looking for clues.

And you think you're really really funny.
Well I don't think you're funny as you do.
We all feel like we're breaking sometimes.

The next day, he was almost back to normal. He took charge of his court of Slytherin, all of whom were eager to have their leader back. But Pansy couldn't help but notice that while most of his gusto was back... There was something missing. Draco told his jokes with his usual lilting smile, hissed insults at innocent (but so very deserving) Gryffindors as the students passed. Something had changed. Something was terribly wrong. Draco was leaving soon (she had no idea when), and this was not a simple manner of worrying about notes.

All the same, Pansy took her seat beside him, laughing when it was expected of her, inserting her own bites at bystanders when the group looked to her for her opinion. But during her free period, Pansy took a quill and some parchment and wrote Draco a note:
'Meet me at the usual spot, twelve.'