Melting Snow
Done.
She was done.
She was so done.
Four years, she had invested into wooing Draco Malfoy—FOUR— and she was bloody done now.
Pansy huffed as she stomped her way forward, knocking others to the side in panic as she went, every inch of her fighting the urge to go back there and hex the Malfoy heir's little head off. Rage filled her entire being. Rage. It had been like a cup filling to the brim, slowly with time, adding more substance with every stupid thing the blond boy said or did, and it had finally poured over. This was it. She was done.
Pansy reached the doors, and well outside, she attempted a deep and steadying breath of fresh air as a realisation hit her.
Rage. She'd felt rage. Not dread as she thought it would be.
It was worth noting that while something that sounded like her mother's voice made itself very known in the back of her head, Pansy felt, at least for now, a tremendous amount of . . . relief. Relief and, of course, anger over wasted time. Well, no more. What point was there in pursuing someone who didn't appreciate you? The way she had deliberately fawned over Draco. . . Pansy was ambitious, but she wasn't delusional. And why waste all that effort?
She lifted her dress, trying not to have the pink and delicate fabric be ruined by the snow and took a few steps along the castle wall. In the distance she heard music playing and her house mates laughing, no doubt at some comment Draco'd made about how he couldn't understand women.
Pansy snorted; allowing herself this 'unladylike' move, seeing as no one was nearby to hear it.
What was there not to understand? Sure, Draco, I'll stand obediently next to you while your gaze is locked onto Granger the entire Ball. Honestly, what did he think? Meanwhile, all Pansy had gotten was a "You look nice."It wouldn't have bothered her quite so much normally, for Draco wasn't one to throw compliments along people's way, but to have him stare at Granger— Granger!— and only give Pansy, his DATE, a slight nod and a 'nice', that just wouldn't do. And so, in a very dramatic fashion, she'd untangled herself from his arm, forever.
Save for the festivities going on inside, the night was still and quiet, yet icy cold nonetheless, biting into her skin. This, combined with the thoughts of Draco, brought Pansy's mind to her housemates.
Who else was there?
Though not alike in every way, the boys in Slytherin shared similar traits, and the thought discouraged her greatly. Pansy had lived with the calculated and withdrawn behaviour of Pure-bloods and Slytherins her near entire life and she was sick of it.
Her thoughts were briefly interrupted as a snowflake settled on her cheek before quickly melting, the cold sensation disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. Pansy's eyelashes fluttered, attempting to process what had just happened. She wasn't cold, she realised. She was warm. She was hot.
She was a bloody inferno.
So Pansy decided right then and there to never settle for anyone who couldn't handle her fire.