Author's note: This was written for a contest which never happened. The rules were to write a 10k story focusing on Pansy. Because of the short word count, I wrote it as a oneshot. It's a very long oneshot, but a oneshot all the same. While posting, I decided just to leave it all as one instead of breaking it into two parts. Hope you don't mind, and hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I am not Ms. Rowling, and so I own nothing recognizable. I do own Pansy's parents and am fond of them. No profit is being made from this.
--Marianne
Time and Tide
A Slytherin Epic
Living in Slytherin meant listening to your reason rather than your instincts. A girl who listened to her instincts found herself either drugged out of her mind or dead. Often the one lead to the other. Funny how no one seemed to notice. When one of them disappeared, the obvious answer was that they had joined the Death Eaters. Sometimes abuse was considered. Never suicide. Never accidental-but-probably-on-purpose-overdoes. Never murder by older, wiser students. Such things never crossed their minds. They didn't see the truth behind the dungeon walls, and they didn't see the secrets that Slytherin kept hidden within its walls.
Pansy saw the secrets. She knew them all, or so she liked to think, and she had learned to navigate her way through the seething mire that was politics in her House. Not for nothing was she the youngest Queen Bee in seven generations. She had come to Hogwarts as an innocent, expecting people to worship her because of her money and her name. She had found a snake pit instead, one which accepted no one until they had proved themselves. Pansy had spent a first year miserable, and had declared passionately that she never wanted to go back. Her mother had slapped and told her to stop being such a child. So Pansy had pouted. She had spent the first half of her summer sulking and throwing tantrums. Only when she realized that they were having no effect did she change tactics. She had to return. So she would be prepared.
Pansy returned to Hogwarts after that first summer a changed person. Gone was the snotty brat who wanted adoration because she was used to it. Instead, a silent, observant young woman sat among her fellow snakes, watching as they interacted. Pansy watched a lot that year. She learned. And soon, she began to thrive.
Our story begins just after Christmas break of Pansy's seventh and final year at school. She had just finished unpacking her trunk – or, rather, removing the most important of her keepsakes and leaving the rest for the House Elves – and the castle seemed to have stilled for the night. Now the senior Slytherin Girl's Prefect – though not Head Girl; no, that privilege was, of course, reserved for Hermione 'Know-it-all' Granger – Pansy had a study all to herself and she had already made good use of it. It was to this study, not to the dormitory she still shared with Millicent and Daphne that she retreated when she needed to be alone for whatever reason. And it was in this study that Draco found her on this particular evening, sipping from a bottle butterbeer that the House Elves had brought her – after, of course, she had sworn on all she considered sacred not to tell anyone of their deed. Pansy found their worry amusing, but she swore anyway, knowing that she would have to cooperate with the little buggers if she wanted more beer later.
She looked up as Draco strode into the room – Draco never walked; he strode or he stalked when he needed to move. Most of the time, the young Malfoy heir sent others to do his bidding. "May I help you?" Draco was a friend, but not a close one, and Pansy knew that he would not be in her room unless something important had happened.
He closed the door behind him, leaning against it until she invited him to take a seat. True to the rules of protocol, carefully drummed into her first by her mother and then by Professor Snape, Pansy offered him butterbeer and ginger biscuits, both of which he refused. She skipped over the small talk, knowing how uncomfortable it would be for them both, and took another sip of her drink. "May I help you?" she repeated, voice neutral.
"Have you contact with your father?" he asked abruptly, gray eyes looking directly at her.
Pansy set her bottle down, careful not to display surprise at the question. "Only rarely."
"Could you find him if you needed to?"
Once more, she banished her surprise and curiosity. "If the reason were urgent enough, I could locate him and communicate, but it is an emergency measure only. For anything less, it is in all of our best interests if we cease speaking."
"I need you to find him for me."
Pansy crossed her right leg over her left, allowing coldness to creep into her gaze. "I fail to see why this is so urgent. Whatever it is that you feel my father must know you may tell your own father. I know that they are often in contact, if not on the best of terms. I am confident that any message can be relayed just as easily through your father as through me."
Draco shook his head firmly. "My father can't know," he said shortly. "No one can know. No one but your father. That means not you either."
She raised her eyebrows, reaching once more for the butterbeer. "You come here demanding my help without doing me the courtesy of explaining your reasoning? I am fairly disinclined to help you at the moment, I must say. Perhaps an explanation would help me understand why this is so necessary."
He scowled. She noted that a faint flush was creeping into his normally bone-pale cheeks. Her curiosity was rapidly growing, and she would be damned if she would let him leave this room without at least a hint of what he needed to tell Andrew. "I told you, I cannot tell you. No one can know."
"Excepting my father."
"Except your father," he agreed.
Pansy examined him with no little concern, though she tried hard to hide it. Draco was not an idiot. He was not brilliant, but he was no fool either. Surely he did not truly believe that he would be able to play her that easily. Pansy was no fool either, and she knew better than to fall for his pleading and stubborn silences.
For several long moments, they sat in silence, Draco examining a portrait directly behind Pansy and Pansy sipping her drink and covertly watching Draco. They seemed to have reached an impasse.
At last, Draco rose. "I thank you for your hospitality and I apologize for disturbing you," he said formally, turning towards the door.
She nodded graciously. "The pleasure was mine." She paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And if you are going to attempt to locate Andrew, you may as well give up now. He allows no one to find him, and if there is one thing in which he excels it is the art of concealment, especially of his own person. You will not find him, even if you search every square inch of England on foot with a fine-toothed comb."
The look he cast her was flat and harsh. "I must. If that is what it takes, then I shall do it." He bowed ever so slightly. "I bid you good night."
She inclined her head. "And to you." He closed the door behind him and Pansy leaned back in her chair, bottle of butterbeer held firmly in her right hand as she took a ginger biscuit. Draco would try to find Andrew. She knew that. Draco never had been one to give up easily, and this seemed to be important to him.
She frowned, wondering whether or not she should alert her mother, at least, to the state of affairs. At last, she decided that it was safe enough, and, putting the bottle down, she moved to kneel before the small fireplace. A pinch of floo powder turned the flames the color of emeralds and Pansy stuck her head through, blinking soot out of her eyes as she looked out into her mother's spacious house.
One of the House Elves appeared before her, summoned by the sound of the fire. "Miss Parkinson," it squeaked, bowing deeply. "What can we do for you, Miss?"
"I must speak with my mother," Pansy told it shortly. "Fetch her."
The House Elf vanished. A few minutes later, Sabrina Parkinson sat in the chair before the fire, looking at her daughter. "What seems to be the trouble?" she asked, a slight frown gracing her features. "Has something happened?"
Briefly, Pansy summed up Draco's visit and his request. When she had finished, Sabrina's face was tight with hidden worry. Pansy gave her time to think, knowing from years of experience that it was a bad idea to press her mother.
At last, Sabrina nodded. "We must tell your father," she told Pansy with only the faintest hint of distaste betraying how she truly felt about speaking with Andrew.
Pansy frowned. "He requested that I not speak to him unless it constituted an emergency," she reminded Sabrina.
"I believe this qualifies," Sabrina said firmly. "Though I do not pretend to understand what your father thinks, I believe he would want to be notified of the fact that Draco Malfoy feels such an urgent need to contact him."
Pansy simply nodded. "I see. I shall speak to him as soon as the opportunity presents itself, then." She did not ask if her mother could do it. Sabrina and Andrew Parkinson had not spoken to each other in years, and neither had any wish to resume contact. Certainly not now, with times being what they were.
Pansy bid her mother farewell then removed her head from the fire, ending the conversation. She felt deeply uneasy about this whole business and wished more than anything that she had been able to convince Draco to reveal whatever it was to her when she had had the chance.
Pansy did not have the chance to speak with Andrew for several days. Every time she tried, her mirror showed him as absent or blocking communication. Since the only person who could speak to him through mirror magic was she herself, Pansy surmised that he was absent.
Nor did she speak with Draco for several days after his visit. The blond, while keeping up outwardly appearances – appearances count for everything, as both Pansy and Draco well knew, and there was absolutely no excuse for letting them slip – seemed more distant than usual, almost distracted. Pansy had not seen him like this since fifth year when his father had followed the Dark Lord into the Department of Mysteries. She hoped something similar was not in the works now. Life was quite complicated enough without allowing for jaunts into the Ministry of Magic, regardless of the purpose.
In fact, it was not until the following Saturday that Pansy managed to get a hold of Andrew, and she knew the moment she saw his face in the mirror that she had called at a bad time. He glowered at her, clearly having decided that she was not dying and thus had no business calling him.
Before he could say anything, Pansy told him in a few clipped sentences that Draco Malfoy was seeking to communicate with him for reasons he would not reveal and that she thought he should be aware of it. She left Sabrina out of it; mentioning his estranged wife would not put Andrew into a better temper. Indeed, it would have precisely the opposite effect, and Pansy would fully expect him to smash his mirror, bad luck be damned.
As it was, he seemed to be having a difficult time controlling himself. She saw the muscles of his face tense and his jaw clamp shut with such ferocity that it was a wonder he was ever able to open them again. Pansy waited while her father regained control over himself and his actions. At last, he spat, "You can tell that… that Malfoy that I'll have nothing to do with him or his blood traitorous father. Tell him that if he ever tries to talk to me I'll kill him. And the same goes for you. I don't want to see your face again unless you're mostly dead, do you understand?"
She inclined her head. "Perfectly." Pansy cut the connection before she gave into the temptation to add that she herself had no desire to see his face either, even if she were mostly dead. Instead, she wrapped the mirror once more in its cloth covering and stowed it deep in the bowels of her trunk, hoping that she would never have to use it again.
Once her mirror had been properly secured and hidden, Pansy rose, securing the door of her study with both magical and physical locks as she left. Certain that none could penetrate her security, Pansy headed for the Common Room, hoping she would be able to find Draco there. She needed to speak to him, needed to convey to him her father's message – though without the slur towards Draco's own father, which she judged unnecessary.
Unfortunately, Draco was nowhere to be seen and no one, not even Crabbe and Goyle who usually had at least an inkling of his whereabouts, could tell her where he was. Pansy resisted the urge to curse and instead nodded and wondered what to do now. She could always return to her study, but she did not want to miss Draco when he returned. She considered staying in the common room to await his return, but she was feeling too restless to stay in one place for however long it might take Draco to return.
Making up her mind, she headed purposefully towards the door and stepped out into the empty corridor outside. She did not bother checking her watch: one of the privileges of being a Senior Prefect was the removal of curfew. Draco too had those privileges, and Pansy knew that it could very well be a long time until he returned to the Slytherin Common room. So she might as well indulge in some wandering of her own.
Briskly, she took off towards the Astronomy Tower. It would be bitter cold up there at this time of the year, but Pansy had learned warming charms in her third year and heights cleared her head. She needed to think of what she would say to Draco when she saw him later, and that would definitely require a clear head.
As it turned out, Pansy never made it as far as the Astronomy Tower, but was instead stopped by the sound of voices ahead of her. She stopped in her tracks, a cold smile spreading across her face. She did enjoy catching others misbehaving. It almost made the necessity of counseling the younger students worth it.
Just as quickly as the smile had appeared it vanished again as she recognized the speakers by voice. Draco and Potter. Pansy frowned. That was not right. What could Draco and Potter possibly be doing alone in an empty corridor at night? Her mind presented her with a very detailed image of precisely what they might be doing, but Pansy rejected it hurriedly. Instead, she backed up against a nearby wall, holding her breath so as not to make a sound. Her mind told her that she really should leave, that this was their own business and that neither would thank her for interfering. She grinned a little as she ignored her own advice. There was little chance that she would miss such an opportunity.
"What makes you think that I should trust you?" Potter spat. Pansy could not see him, but she could hear his voice perfectly well. She shrank farther back against the wall.
"You will have to rely on your own intuition for that," Draco told him calmly. Pansy could hear the edge in his voice, though she doubted Potter would notice. Indeed, Pansy herself only noticed because she was prone to using the same tone of voice. Potter, from the little she knew, tended more towards screaming incoherently.
"My intuition isn't the most reliable," Potter said coldly. "Besides, mine right now is telling me to curse you before you get me. Unless you'd like to finish this night in pieces, you'll give me a damn good reason."
Draco did not reply, and Pansy could imagine the cold sneer painting itself quietly across his face. She wondered if Potter could see him. Pansy herself could not, but her eyesight never had been the best. Potter's was not either, of course, as proven by the glasses he wore.
At last, Draco said, "Very well. You ask why you should trust me? You should trust me in this matter because it is vital that you do so. If you do not, there is a very good chance that everything you love will be destroyed. I can change that, but not unless you allow me to speak with the Order of the Phoenix."
"How do you know about the Order, anyway?" Potter demanded.
"You thought we did not know of its existence?" Draco asked, amused. "Rest assured, Potter, the Dark Lord knows about your little club."
"You said 'we,'" Potter pointed out. Pansy could hear him getting angry, and she shook her head. Anger solved nothing. Certainly when one was dealing with Draco it did not. He reminded her of a Dementor sometimes, with his ability to feed on passion and use it to grow stronger.
"Indeed I did," Draco agreed. "I am still officially a member of the Death Eaters." He paused, then amended himself. "Or, rather, I am a soon to be official member. The Dark Lord likes it better when we're of age, you see."
"I wouldn't think he cared."
"Of course he cares. Why take a wizard who hasn't finished school? We're useless to him, just as I imagine you are useless to your Order."
"I am not useless!" Potter roared. Pansy saw a flash as his wand sent out sparks, and she winced. How on Earth had he spent six years sneaking around this castle and not learned to keep his voice down when he broke curfew? Professor Snape would be on them within moments, she was certain.
"Oh yes you are," Draco countered. "You are useless to them and you know. Admit it to yourself, Potter. The only reason the old coot keeps you around is because you can tell what the Dark Lord thinks. Yes, Potter, we know about that. Did you think we wouldn't, after your little performance at the Department of Mysteries? We know how you feel his thoughts, and we know how you can be manipulated. And your precious Dumbledore knows that too, doesn't he? He knows that you can't be trusted. Do you really think that he's going to tell you anything? Do you think he will let you do something, now that you've shown how vulnerable you are? Face it Potter. You're as useless in this as I am."
"You're a liar!" Potter screeched. "Shut up!"
Draco sighed. "I never thought you were very intelligent," he said bluntly. "You're too dense to realize it on your own. I'm doing you a favor, Potter. At least now your eyes are opened to the truth."
Potter did not reply, but Pansy could hear him panting, apparently enraged beyond even the hope of speech.
Draco sighed again. "Yes, I know that it's difficult to comprehend that you might not be the center of the universe," he snapped. "But you will have to accept it. None of us are in charge of the world, and all of us need to realize that. You, me, the Dark Lord, your Dumbledore, all of us. Now, will you stop trying to curse me and listen to what I have to tell you? It might be the thing which actually gets them to let you do something other than act as a barometer for the Dark Lord's moods."
Potter said nothing, but his breath slowed, and Pansy wondered if he was letting go of some of his fury, switching it for rabid curiosity. She had to admire Draco's methods. She would not have thought of appealing to Potter's hero sense, but, then she was not in Draco's position. He seemed to actually need Potter for something, and perhaps if she needed Potter for something, she would know how to get him to help her.
Apparently having decided that Potter was not going to interrupt, Draco continued, "I should not even know this," he told Potter bluntly. "I should not know it and I should certainly not be telling. Nor should I be speaking to you. Before I say anything more, I want you to understand just how dangerous this is for me."
"If you're trying to make me feel sorry for you, you're not doing well," Potter sneered.
"I am doing nothing of the sort," Draco informed him. "Believe it or not, I care very little what you think of me. I am informing you of this so that you appreciate the gravity of my words."
"Well, what are they?" Potter demanded. "What is so important?"
Draco muttered something, and Pansy felt the weight of the silencing spell. She scowled, realizing that she was outside of its boundaries. What to do now? It was too dark to read their lips, and obviously continuing to eavesdrop would be useless. She really had only one choice, and it was with a slight growl that Pansy whirled and stalked back to the Slytherin common room, leaving Draco and Potter to glare at each other in the darkness.
"My father has a message for you."
Draco turned at the sound of Pansy's voice, a slight frown gracing his usually impassive features. "Oh?"
Pansy nodded, slipping into a seat next to him. "Indeed. He wishes for me to tell you to never try to speak to him. He has no use for you or your messages, and he will kill you if you find him." She shrugged. "And from my mother, you are to please not try to find him anymore, as she does not want any more deaths in her name."
Draco scowled. "I do not see why it would be a death in her name."
"It's complicated," Pansy said dismissively. "I simply wished to convey the messages."
"Well, you have done so," he snapped. "But it will not be the end of this. I must speak with your father and if I must do so at the danger of my own life, then so be it. I have no choice."
Pansy made a face. "You always have choices," she reminded him. "And you of all people should know that."
"And what if I do?" he demanded. "I have made my choice. Now I must go where it leads me."
She shrugged. "If you say so," she said dubiously. "Personally I think that it's a foolish choice. then again, it certainly was not mine to make." She reached out and poured herself a mug of coffee, delighted that she was now old enough to drink it. The house elves were under strict instructions not to serve caffeine to minors -- and, considering the first and second years, Pansy had no objections to this rule at all -- but once students reached their majority, the elves had no choice but to give them the caffeine they all craved. She sipped the steaming liquid, waiting for Draco to answer.
He did not, and when she glanced over, she saw that he was staring down at his plate with a blank look on his face, as though he had forgotten his surroundings. She frowned, peaking up to make certain no one had noticed. She hesitated, the decided that he would thank her for rousing him from this stupor.
"Draco," she hissed. He did not respond, and she sighed, then reached across him for the bead, accidentally on purpose knocking his water glass into his lap as she did so.
That woke him quickly enough, and he glowered at her. She shrugged. "You seemed dead to the world," she said, completely unconcerned by the liquid currently soaking into his robes. "And I thought this might not be the place."
He did not deign to respond to this, but instead cast a drying charm on his robes and righted his glass. He did not continue glaring at her either, though, and Pansy decided that he secretly was grateful for her intervention. Or, at least, not furious which, with Draco, was about all one could ask for. She resolved to ignore this and instead went back to her own meal, buttering the bread she had retrieved slowly and eating it as she went over her timetable for the day. Double potions first, which was a difficult way to begin the day. She did not like potions, despite the fact that Professor Snape was easier on her than many of her classmates, and having it first thing in the morning was harsh. She would have preferred something like history of magic, which at least she could have slept through.
Pansy shrugged to herself, her pragmatic nature taking over once more. She could do very little about the time table, and the best for her would be simply to accept it as it was. She proceeded to do so, eating another slice of bread and finishing off her coffee. She rose, nodding at Draco, who only glared, then went up to the Slytherin common room to gather her things.
Potions passed slowly, as always, with Pansy attempting to focus and finding it difficult. she saw Professor Snape glaring at her whenever he thought no one else would see, and she tried to concentrate, but her mind kept replaying the conversation she had overheard the night before, and she found herself more focused on figuring out what Draco had been telling Potter than on what she was doing with her cauldron. As a result, it was only the intervention of Daphne Greenglass, sitting beside her, which saved Pansy from blowing the entire thing up, and it was with a glower that Professor Snape accepted her flask. Pansy sighed, knowing that she would be receiving a very poor mark for the day. She could not begrudge it -- she did deserve it, after all -- bit it was still a blow to her pride. She enjoyed being correct, and she enjoyed doing things well, and bad scores brought her overall marks down more than she liked. Pansy was no Hermione Granger, but she was intelligent enough, and she prided herself on her schoolwork.
Now, though, she could not make herself care enough to focus in her next classes. She considered claiming illness and going back to her study to brood and think. It was tempting, she had to say. Extremely tempting, and she found herself deviating from the path from potions to charms as she considered it. At last, she shook her head, forcing herself to go back to charms. She could not simply ditch class. Not only because that would kill her marks, but also because she wanted to observe Draco, and she could not observe Draco if she were not in the same room with him.
So she went on, bluffing her way through charms and not eating much at lunch. She could tell that Millicent, the closest thing Pansy had to a girl friend, looked at her with some concern, but Pansy only shrugged. She could not explain things to Millicent, who, despite being rather sweet under the hard exterior and quite unabashedly in love with Daphne Greenglass, was not the sharpest tack in the House and would probably not understand Pansy's methods. Millicent's way would be to corner Draco and make him talk. While it might work for her -- she did have size on her side, and even Draco might be tempted to divulge his secrets if cornered by Millicent Bullstrode -- it would certainly not work for Pansy. Thus, she needed a different strategy, and Millicent was not the one to ask.
So Pansy continued to watch. She watched for two days, trying not to let him notice that she was doing so. She thought she was being discreet about the whole thing, and perhaps she would never have been caught, except that she betrayed herself at the worst possible time, thus ending all hope of keeping her interest hidden.
Draco sat in the common room, looking idly into the fire. He had banished his two goons somewhere, and Pansy could not help being grateful. She never had like Crabbe and Goyle, and she had to wonder why Draco bothered with the oafs. Either it had to do with image, which was likely , or it was out of genuine fear, which might also be likely. Still, he could have found better. Or at least different. How the two had managed to stay in school this long, Pansy would never know, and, quite frankly, she did not care enough to find out. All she cared about was that they were gone at the moment, and that she would not have to deal with them tonight.
Pansy pretended to read a book, looking over its pages at Draco every so often, just to make certain that he had not moved. He had not, and after several hours, during which time most other people had left, he still had not so much as twitched. Pansy frowned, wondering what to do. Her first instinct was simply to leave him to sit there, but it was quickly quelled. She did not know if she actually cared about his wellbeing or was simply curious as to the reason for his odd stillness -- her pride told her to accept the second, but she was not actually certain about that -- but either way she wanted to find out the reason. So, not stopping to ask herself whether or not this was a good idea -- she knew the answer to that already and she was doing it anyway -- she set her book aside and rose, walking silently over to where Draco sat.
He did not seem to notice her arrival, and her frown deepened. This was not a good sign. Draco noticed everything that happened around him. Or, at least, he usually did. These days he was so distracted that it did not actually surprise Pansy that he had not noticed her arrival.
"Draco?"
He did not reply, and she was eerily reminded of the scene at breakfast two days previous. She looked around, but there were no convenient glasses of water with which to bring him back to reality this time.
"Draco!" she insisted, leaning over and touching his shoulder.
Still not response. She sighed, wondering if he had actually fallen asleep. A glance at his face confirmed that, unless he had learned to sleep with his eyes open -- unlikely -- he was awake. His wide gray eyes stared blankly into the fire, blinking occasionally, but not responding to anything around them. Pansy bit her lip, genuinely concerned now. Draco was not her closest friend, true, but he was a friend all the same, and she did not like to think that something grave could be wrong.
"Draco, please wake up now," she pleased, shaking his shoulder.
He blinked, but she did not know if that was at random or in response to her shaking. Still, encouraged by some response, she repeated the exercise, speaking more loudly and digging her fingernails into his shoulder. She thanked Merlin that she kept her nails long -- it was far easier to reach through the fabric of his robes and into his flesh than it would have been if they were ragged or short.
He started at hat, and she paused, encouraged. His eyes did not move, and she scowled. Suddenly frustrated, she released his shoulder and slapped him hard across the face. "Snap out of it," she ordered. "Draco, wake up."
He did, and she suddenly remembered why it was considered a bad idea to wake a wizard in the middle of a nightmare. His wand was out and pointed before she could move out of the way, and he clutched her wrist in his free hand. The look in his eyes had turned from vacant to furious, and Pansy could feel her heart sinking deep into her stomach. She should just have left well enough alone. This was turning into an unqualified disaster.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice cold.
"I was waking you," she replied, doing her best to act as though she did not see the wand pointed at her eyes. "You seemed to be in some kind of trance, and I woke you."
"That was an incredibly foolish thing to do," he snarled. He yanked on her wrist and she stumbled, coming close to him under duress. "You should know better than to bother me by now. In fact, you should know better than to speak to me at all."
Pansy scowled. "May I remind you that you were the one who spoke to me," she snapped, trying not to be intimidated by him. He wanted her to be afraid. So, she would not be afraid. That was simple enough. She could do that. Well, maybe she could do that. The wand was awfully close to her eyes now, and she did not have faith in her own ability to throw a counter jinx at this range. He would have her before she could blink, much less react in any kind of defensive manner. Still, she could not admit that she was beaten now. Admitting to that would be tantamount to admitting defeat, and Pansy did not like to lose. So she continued to glare at him even after her insides had turned to liquid.
"And now I am telling you not to speak to me. And to stop watching my every move. Don't think I had not noticed."
"Well, you would be curious as well, if a friend of yours demanded to speak to your father and would not take no for an answer," Pansy remarked defensively. "You would want to know why."
"I would have the courtesy to respect my "friend's" privacy," he snapped. "And I am hardly your friend, Parkinson."
"Oh?" she demanded coldly. "If you are not my friend, Malfoy, then I fail to see why you should expect favors from me."
"I expect nothing of the kind."
"You most certainly do. Or had you not realized that asking to see my father constitutes asking for favors."
"I assume that you have a similar relationship with your father than I do with mine."
Pansy shrugged. "Not knowing what kind of relationship you and your father have, I cannot say for certain, but I imagine that mine is different."
"Then please, enlighten me."
She scowled. "I find myself unwilling to do that while you have me at wand point. Perhaps you would consider releasing me if you wish me to tell my life story."
He scowled. "I did not ask for your life story. And, frankly, I do not care about your life story. I do care that you cease stalking me."
"I am not stalking you!" she snapped. "Far from it, in fact."
"Oh?"
"Yes indeed."
"Then I seem to have the wrong definition of stalking. Pray enlighten me as to what you think it is."
Pansy scowled. "Stalking," she snapped, "is when a person follows another around, takes pictures, and knows their address. What I am doing is called being concerned for a friend, which involves watching them for odd behavior and interfering when you feel things have become dangerous."
"And you feel that they have now, do you?"
"I do indeed."
"Well you are mistaken."
"Oh?"
"Yes indeed."
"Forgive me for saying so, Draco, but I feel that watching someone stare blankly into a fire for hours at a time without so much as mobbing a finger is cause for concern. The only people I know of who do that without serious cause are Seers, and visions rarely last hours."
"I assure you, I am not a Seer."
"No, I did not think you were. Which led me to wondering why you were simply looking vaguely into the fire. And I was concerned, so I came to see if you were well. Clearly I could have saved myself the trouble."
"Indeed you could have. A word of advice: next time you feel the need to save someone from themselves, don't. People rarely appreciate it."
"I will keep that in mind. Are you going to release my wrist now, or shall I assume that you have forgotten that you still hold it?"
"I have not forgotten," he snapped, releasing the appendage. "And now, if you do not mind, I wish to be alone, so I will thank you to go away."
She shrugged. She had no intentions of going back to her dormitory, but he did not have to know that. Indeed, she would much rather that he did not. So, instead, she went back to her chair and picked up her book once more, looking down at the pages and pretending to be completely engrossed in its contents. She wondered if Draco even cared, and decided that he probably did not. He did not drop his image much in the common room, but it was enough that he would not care to look around and make certain that no one was watching, as he would have if he were completely in character. Pansy was almost certain that she was safe.
She did not quite know how long she spent pretending to read. Draco had lapsed back into his seer's trance, for all that he claimed not to be an actual seer. Pansy did not suppose that he was one either, but it certainly looked as though he were accepting visions from the heavens.
At last, she felt herself sliding into slumber. When no amount of pinching would keep her awake, she scowled and set the book down, heading silently to bed. She would decide what to do in the morning, she thought. Little did she know that, by morning, it might be too late.
Her first clue that something was not as it should be was that Potter was missing from his usual table. Admittedly, she noticed this rather later than she should have, but she had not yet had any coffee, and it was a miracle that she noticed his absence at all. She frowned, scanning the Gryffindor table for Weasley and Granger. Both were there, talking quietly to each other. Pansy wondered if they too were wondering where their partner in crime might be. A look at her own table confirmed what she had already half suspected: Draco was not present either. She sighed, pouring herself a cup of coffee and staring into it as she tried to sort out her thoughts. As she saw it, she had two courses of action. The first, which she did not much favor, was to go and try to find Draco on her own. The second which she did not much care for either, was to enlist Weasley and Granger to help her find Draco. It did not occur to her that she could not find Draco. She had told herself that she would find him, and she was too curious and too stubborn to give up. The only matter to settle was how she would do it.
She finished her first cup and started on her second, thinking. She did not know where he might be, and she did not know that Potter was with him, though, considering their conversation the week before, it seemed likely. She wondered suddenly if Potter had told Weasley and Granger. If he had, then they would be valuable to her not only as protection but as sources of information. That certainly added weight to their side. Of course, he could have kept silent, which would render them useless once more. Pansy grimaced. She wanted simply to go at it alone, but her instinct kept screaming at her to slow down. She had gotten into trouble last night because she did not think enough and because she rushed into things alone. So, this time, perhaps the universe was trying to convince her not to go alone. While she appreciated the effort, she did have to wonder why it had chosen Weasley and Granger.
As it turned out, the decision was taken out of her hands. Granger herself cornered Pansy as the girl left the great hall, looking awkward and uncertain. "Er, Parkinson?"
Pansy glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "What is it, Granger?" she snapped.
"We were wondering if we could talk to you."
"We? I do not recall your being plural," Pansy said.
Granger scowled. "Ron and I," she said.
Pansy sighed. "And why did you need to speak with me? Do it quickly, Granger. I do not wish to be late for class."
Granger scowled once again. It was not an attractive look on her face, Pansy decided, examining the other critically. Of course, Granger did not have much to work with, but even so. The scowl was distinctly unflattering.
"Unless you want to do it here, then I think we should find someplace private to talk," the bushy-haired Gryffindor hissed.
Pansy shrugged. "If you insist. Lead on." she resettled her book bag on her shoulder and trailed after Granger and Weasley, doing her absolute best to pretend that she was not following them. No Slytherin would be seen dead following two Gryffindors, certainly not who cared for either his life or his reputation. Pansy, as chance would have it, cared for both.
Granger led them, surprisingly, not to the library but to an abandoned bathroom. Pansy looked at it with disdain. "Here?" she asked. "You wish to have a secret conference in moaning myrtle's bathroom?"
Granger shrugged. "No one will disturb us," she pointed out.
Pansy sighed. "If you insist. Make it quick, if you please."
Weasley growled at her. "If you just shut up, maybe she could tell you!" he snapped.
"Temper, Weasley," Pansy snapped back. "I do not have to be here, you know. You were the ones who asked me to come, and I have done so. It strikes me that I could just as easily leave this place as I entered, and you could do nothing to stop me. So I will thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to me, at least until we break this truce."
Weasley glared, but Granger nodded. "She's right," Granger told him. "Calm down. We need her. You know we do."
Pansy inclined her head towards Granger. "So, why exactly do you require my assistance?"
"We want to find harry," Granger said flatly. "And we think he might be with Malfoy."
"What makes you think that I know Draco's location."
"You're his friend, aren't you?" Weasley demanded.
Pansy laughed. "I suppose," she replied. "He would deny that, of course, but I suppose our relationship could be termed 'friendship,' if one takes the definition loosely enough."
"You're always around him," Weasley objected. "Of course you're friends."
"I believe that I am in a better position than you to tell whether or not I am friends with Draco," Pansy informed him coldly. "And I have no desire to discuss my relationship with Draco with you."
"Do you know where he is?" Granger cut in, looking sharply at Weasley before turning her attention back to Pansy.
Pansy sighed. "Not exactly, no," she said. "I have a vague idea of where he might be attempting to go, but I do not know if I am correct, or if he managed to get there, or if he has Potter with him."
"Where do you think he is, then?" Granger wanted to know.
"I believe he is attempting to find my father," Pansy said bluntly. "Which is a very stupid idea and which he should not have attempted, but there's Draco for you. As to why Potter might be with him, I have no idea, save for the fact that he would not take Draco to see Professor Dumbledore."
"Malfoy wanted to see Dumbledore?" Weasley demanded. "Why?"
"I am certain I do not know."
"Then how do you know that he wanted to see him in the first place?"
"He cast his wards towards the middle of the conversation," Pansy said with a shrug. "And I do not know any charms to break them that he would not notice. Draco is extremely good at casting wards." 'And so he should be,' she thought grimly. 'He certainly gets enough practice breaking them at his home.'
Granger frowned, not saying anything. Pansy waited, wondering what she was thinking about. Perhaps she was trying to figure out if Pansy lied. It would be flattering, in a way, to think that Granger spent so much time and effort trying to figure her out, but Pansy really could not care one way or the other.
At last, Granger looked directly at Pansy. "Do you think you can find your father?"
"I can. I do not advise it, but I can find him."
"This is an emergency."
Pansy laughed. "No, it's not. Not to my father, in any case."
"Why not?" Weasley wanted to know. "And why does Malfoy want him, anyway?"
"I have no idea," Pansy said bluntly. "I do, however, know that I am under explicit instructions not to speak to my father again until I am more than mostly dead." she shrugged. "Quite frankly, I have no objections. However, I am not mostly dead, and he will not appreciate us dropping on him."
"He'll just have to cope," Granger snapped.
Pansy snorted despite herself. "My father does not 'cope' with much," she said. "And he tends to react violently when his orders are disobeyed."
"What exactly do you mean by 'violently?'" Granger asked, frowning.
"You may substitute in 'with homicidal intent,' if that will make things clearer for you," Pansy said dryly.
"Oh."
"Indeed."
"So why does Malfoy think that he can survive?" Weasley wanted to know.
Pansy shrugged. "I do not know that either. Despite what you seem to believe, I am not an expert either in Draco's thoughts or his motivations. Indeed, no one but Draco knows quite why he acts the way he does. I suspect he enjoys it that way."
"But you think that he's trying to find your father?"
"That would be my first instinct as to where he is, yes."
"So we need to go there. If he has Harry with him, and your father's going to kill them, we need to be there."
"You do not believe that your golden prince can take care of himself?"
Granger only glared at her. "No, of course I don't. Why, do you think Malfoy can take care of himself?"
Pansy started to answer that, of course she thought Draco could care for himself. Then she remembered his recent lapses into staring blankly at things and revised her opinion. "Now that you mention it, no," she said dryly. "I do not think so. I assume you both wish to come?'
They nodded, and Pansy sighed. "Very well. We will go to my father. But do not say I did not warn you when he tries to kill you." She looked around, then added, "and let's leave this place before it makes me ill."
This time, the two of them followed her out, and they did a much worse job than she had done at pretending not to follow.
Pansy made the two of them stand outside as she entered the common room and went to get her things. Temporary allies they might be, but she was certainly not going to let them into the Slytherin common room. Quite apart from the fact that she would be dead meat if she did so, she had no wish to invite any more familiarity than that which had already been forced upon them by this venture. So she told them to stay and went up alone, swiftly gathering the Portkey and the magic mirror. As an afterthought, she also took a cloak, just in case. She did not actually know where her father was at the moment, though the Portkey would take her to him, and she did not want to be caught unawares.
Soon enough she had rejoined Granger and Weasley outside of the Slytherin common room, and she beckoned for them to follow once more. She was not about to risk using the Portkey within the walls of Hogwarts proper. She would not put it past the headmaster to have blocked Portkeys as well as Apparition. Or, if he had not, then he would certainly know when a student used one, or even a teacher, and Pansy would rather no one knew. Certainly not Professor Dumbledore. So she led them outside to a point just outside the boundaries from which those with a license Apparated. There they stopped, and she looked at the two of them. "Be ready," she said darkly.
"Just get on with it," Weasley snapped.
Pansy shrugged. "If you insist." she took out the Portkey, which was currently shaped like a small inkbottle, and motioned for the two Gryffindors to touch it. When they had done so, she tapped it with her wand, activating it. Then she grabbed firmly onto to her stomach as they were lurched away from Hogwarts. She hated travelling by Portkey. Really, really hated it. Normally the first things she did when travelling this way was retch, but she was not about to let that happen in the presence of the two Gryffindors, so she hung grimly on, waiting for the journey to be over. It did not help that she did not know where they were going and so did not know when they would land.
At last, the fell to the ground, the ink bottle dropping between them. Pansy lay there for a long moment, getting her breathing back under control. She did not want to seem like a weakling to them, but she simply could to get up again. If she moved, she would vomit, and Pansy was not about to do that. So she stayed where she was, getting control of herself once more. Only when she was certain of her ability to move without expelling the contents of her stomach did she rise, scooping up the ink bottle and putting it back into her pocket. She untied her cloak and put it on, grateful that she had thought to bring it. Wherever they were, it was frigid, and she was already shivering.
Beside her, Granger looked around, frowning. "Where are we?" she demanded.
Pansy shrugged. "To be honest, I do not know. We are wherever my father has chosen to set up camp today." she stiffened suddenly, having heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind them. "Get down!" she hissed, dropping flat to the ground just as the first spell whizzed over her head. Beside her, she heard Weasley and Granger doing the same, and she waited, hoping that Andrew would not keep firing spells at her. Or, at least, that he would stop long enough to let her explain. If he still wanted to kill her after that, well, she could not exactly blame him. She had disobeyed a direct order, after all.
"Get up," his voice snarled, and she winced. He had seen her, then. Motioning for Weasley and Granger to stay where they were, Pansy rose slowly, hand clutching her wand. She turned, looking directly at her father for the first time in years. She had spoken to him since he left, of course, but never face to face. Both of them preferred it that way. Or, at least, Pansy did, and she was almost positive that Andrew did as well.
"What do you think you're doing here?" he demanded, wand leveled at her throat. "I told you never to come here."
"I would not have done so if I could avoid it, I assure you," she informed him, trying to sound brave. One more, she was reminded of her encounter with Draco. The specifics were eerily similar, she decided. Both times she had been terrified out of her wits, and both times she had done her best to pretend that she was not. She wondered if her father would notice. A glance at his face told her that he would, and she grimaced.
That was a mistake, and she knew it instantly. His face darkened and he took a step forward. Despite herself, Pansy scrambled to get away from him. "We came to warn you that we're not the only ones coming," she gasped, then winced as she noticed her slip.
"We?" he asked harshly, glaring at her. "You brought others with you? How dare you do such a thing? You know that that's unacceptable behavior!"
"She didn't want to."
Pansy jumped, then hung her head as Granger jumped to her feet. Doomed. The stupid girl had doomed them all. Had Pansy been left on her own, she could almost certainly have at least gotten the two of them out of this. But now, now Granger had sealed her own fate. Pansy decided that she was not going to feel sorry for the girl. She had done this to herself, and Pansy was not to be held responsible.
Andrew Parkinson stared at Granger as though he could not believe what he was seeing. Pansy quite honestly did not blame him in the least. Hermione Granger was probably one of the last people he had expected or wanted to see.
"Oh she didn't, did she?" he asked dangerously, turning back to Pansy with a frightening glint in his eye.
She clutched her wand all the more tightly. "I did not," she agreed, hating the way her voice came out trembling as opposed to steady, as she might have wished. "And what I came to tell you is important, so if you can stop yourself from killing me until I have told you, then you will be grateful."
He let out a bark of laughter. "What can you possibly tell me?" he scoffed.
"I can tell you that right now, we are almost positive that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are looking for you," she said bluntly. "And we can tell you that both are rather trigger happy ad resentful. And if you feel that this is no threat, may I remind you that Harry Potter is the one who defeated the Dark Lord more times than I can remember and that Draco is Lucius' son. Both of them are not to be trifled with, and I thought you would appreciate the information."
"And you brought them?" Andrew snapped. "Why?"
"They wished to locate Potter, I wished to speak with you. Our purposes seemed to coincide. I brought them along. Rest assured, I warned them that you would not take kindly to their presence, and they still insisted upon coming. I allowed them to.
"Allowed us to?" Weasley demanded. He scowled at her. "You did not! We chose to come, and you didn't have the choice of turning us away."
"Ron," Granger gritted, grabbing his arm and clamping down hard with what seemed to be her fingernails. "Shut up."
He turned to look at her in shock, but Pansy ignored him, focused on her father. He was like a tightly loaded spring toy, almost wound all the way but not quite. It would not take much, though, and soon he would pop out, exploding and probably taking at least one of them with him.
Pansy was in the middle of wondering whether she would have time to grab Granger and Weasley and Portkey out of there when an all too familiar voice called, "You seem to have beaten us. Of course, you do know the way."
Dread filling her even more than it had before, Pansy turned to see Draco and Potter standing a little ways away, wands out and eyes narrowed.
Andrew Parkinson too turned, and his own eyes narrowed as he saw the two of them. In an instant, he had forgotten about terrorizing Pansy and the two Gryffindors. His mind was focused only on Draco and Potter as he stormed towards them, wand out and black eyes blazing. "How dare you come here?" he roared, flecks of spittle flying out of his mouth and hitting Draco's shirt. "You, of all people! You know that you are not welcome here. And yet you come. Give me one reason why is should not crush you where you stand."
Draco regarded him levelly, and Pansy recalled that he had had a lifetime of standing up to Lucius Malfoy upon which to call. While she doubted that Lucius could be as frightening as Andrew when he got truly furious, it at least gave Draco experience in standing up to his fear. And Potter, well, Potter had faced down the Dark Lord time and time again. It made sense that he was brave. Pansy sighed, wishing that she had the courage to face her enraged father. It seemed pathetic that she could not even cope with that.
"I have information for you," Draco told Andrew flatly. "And you will want to hear it."
"And why have you come to me?" Andrew sneered. "If it is about the so called Dark Lord, I don't want to know. I want nothing to do with that maggot and you should know that. Unless, of course, your father doesn't tell you anything, which is probable. Lucius is too smart to tell his secrets to someone like you."
Finally, this sparked a reaction in Draco. He scowled, hand clenching his wand. "My father does not need to tell me things for me to find them out," he informed Andrew coldly. "I have ways that not even you will guess."
Andrew laughed, then spat contemptuously at Draco's feet. "And play the other card, Malfoy," he sneered. "I want nothing to do with you and your family. As for you," he rounded on Potter, who met his eyes more or less steadily. "You've got some nerve, showing up here with him. Did you think I'd be kind to you because I hate the vermin who calls himself lord? You're more of a fool than Malfoy here."
"I didn't think so," Potter snapped, voice rising in volume. "I came because he's right. You need to know this. I don't even know who you are."
"And yet I need to know something. How charming. I don't suppose it occurred to either of you that I can take care of myself?"
"Not against the banshees you can't," Draco said flatly. He seemed to have recovered some of his cool, and he was looking at Andrew with something almost approaching scorn. Pansy hoped that she was just imagining that. If it really was, then Draco was dead where he stood.
Andrew stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. Pansy shivered. She had never heard her father laugh, not really, and she hoped she would never have to again. It was a dreadful sound, made all the worse because she suspected that he only did this when he was about to enjoy himself immensely. And the only time Andrew Parkinson enjoyed himself immensely was when he was inflicting pain on another. There was a reason that Sabrina had run off, all those years before, taking Pansy with her and severing all contact. Of course, Draco would not know that. No one but the three Parkinsons knew that. Well, Andrew's parents might have some idea, having raised Andrew, but no one society knew the real reason. Sabrina had made certain of that.
"You think those things scare me?" he asked at last, catching his breath. He spat again, then dug into his pocket and withdrew a fat cigarette. A flick of his wand lit it, and he set it to his lips, blowing out a long stream of smoke into Draco's face. The blond coughed, waving the smoke away from his face. Andrew laughed again. "Who's been feeding you lies, eh boy? Your pathetic worm of a Dark Lord? Your father? Who is it?"
Draco finally looked concerned, but he continued to stand his ground. "It's of no concern to you where I learned it," he said bravely. "But the Dark Lord has grown weary of your being here. He wishes to wipe you from the face of the earth. " A spark of defiance returned to Draco's face as he added, "I thought you might want to know that."
"Boy that vermin has been trying to kill me for years," Andrew said, in an almost pleasant voice. Pansy shuddered. "What makes you think I don't know about this time?"
"This is different," Potter cut in. "this time he's serious. And he's going to actually do it."
"And why do you care?" Andrew demanded, turning to study Potter. "Why should you be interested? Not, of course, that it matters one way or the other to your fate, of course." He shrugged, blowing out another stream of smoke, this time towards Potter, who waved it away.
"We need you," he said flatly.
"We?"
"The Order of the Phoenix. You're the longest non-member to hold out against Voldemort, and we need you on our side. And if you're not on ours, then you're on his, and I don't think you want that."
"I'm a free agent," Andrew snapped. "I'm not interested
"There is no middle ground," Potter insisted.
Andrew snorted. "If you think that, then you're more of a fool than even I thought, and I thought you were a damn great one. Of course there's a middle ground. Or a third one, whichever you prefer."
"No, there isn't," Potter insisted. "If you're not with us then you're with Voldemort."
Andrew took another long drag on his cigarette, though did not seem to visibly calm him. Then, he threw the half finished cigarette to the ground, not bothering to grind it out and strode over to Potter, eyes blazing. He hit the boy, knocking him to the ground, then stood over him, face contorted with rage. "You know nothing!" he roared. "You think you know so much about everything, don't you? You're Potter, the great Potter, saint Potter, boy who lived Potter, and you don't know anything. You don't think, don't know. You're spouting out what that fool of a headmaster told you without thinking about any of it."
Draco nodded, looking smug. Pansy could tell that he was enjoying the sight of his rival being told off by Andrew, and she grimaced. Draco was next, she was certain of it. Behind her, she could hear Weasley growling under his breath, but Granger seemed to have him under control. Pansy paid him no attention. The drama going on in front of her was far more interesting than anything the two Gryffindors could cook up.
Sure enough, Andrew whirled to glower at Draco. "Don't start," he snarled. "You're just the same."
"I…" Draco began, but he got no farther before Andrew cut him off viciously.
"You're a puppet for the dark worm you worship," he snarled. Draco's eyes widened and he shook his head, but Andrew stopped him once more. "Don't even try to deny it. You think I don't recognize canned drivel when I hear it?" he snarled contemptuously at Draco, fishing out another cigarette and lighting it. "Better people than you have tried this on me before, including your father." He blew the smoke into Draco's face again, watching impassively as the blond coughed, trying to wave the smoke away.
"So which side are you on?" Potter demanded, with what seemed to be the terminal stupidity for which he was rightly famed.
Andrew sighed. "My own," he snapped. Abruptly, he reached down and dragged Potter to his feet. "And I'm tired of talking to you now. Get out of here now."
Draco tried to start again, but Pansy had had enough. She had not spent the past week trying to keep Draco out of harm only to have her own father kill him. "Do it Draco," she called coldly. "I told you that this was a stupid idea. He's not going to listen and you're only going to get yourself killed if you stay."
Draco glared at her. "I don't need your help," he screamed. Pansy detected the beginning of a note of hysteria in his voice, and she frowned.
"Clearly you do, since you're not clever enough to figure out on your own what a stupid idea this was," she informed him.
"Just shut up!" he yelled. "I'm not done yet."
"Yes you are," Andrew snarled at him. "You were done before you even got here. Go tell your sniveling master that he should send someone better than you to bring me in."
"I'm not working for anyone!" Draco tried, but Andrew let out a bark of laughter. "I'm not!" Draco insisted, and then his words turned to a simple scream of agony as Andrew pushed the lit end of his cigarette against Draco's exposed hand. When the cigarette had gone out, Andrew removed it, looking coolly down at it. "Waste of a good fag," he said simply, and tossed it over his shoulder.
Pansy did not dare look at Draco's hand. She was certain that she would not like what she saw, and she was not certain that her mind could take too much more today.
"Malfoy, give it up," Potter snapped suddenly. "He's not coming."
"No!" Draco shrieked. "I…" He stopped midsentence, eyes bulging in his too pale face. He gasped, hands going to his throat as though to pull something off. Pansy stared in horror as he struggled with something she could not see.
"What's happening?" Weasley asked, staring open mouthed at the spectacle before them.
No one answered him, partly because no one wanted to speak and partly because the answer was plain enough. Draco was being suffocated by something none of them could see. Even Pansy, who had no medical training and no wish to acquire any, could tell that it was a losing battle. Draco swayed, his desperate grasping growing weaker. His knees buckled and he began to cough. How he found the air to do so, Pansy would never know, but she assumed that it was a part of the curse doing this. For it had to be a curse. Draco would not just suddenly decide to suffocate himself, and, if he did, this would not be the way to do it.
He continued to cough, small droplets of blood coming up as he did so. His hands continued fighting feebly against nothing at all, but Pansy could see in his eyes the knowledge of his own death. It was a horrible look, one of equal parts greatest terror and intense agony. He did not have long left, she knew, and even now his coughing was growing weaker as he simply did not have the air to sustain it.
"Save him!"
The voice, which she recognized as hers, was high and shrill, quavering as it pleaded. Andrew did not even glance at him. He did not move a muscle as the seventeen-year-old wizard convulsed before him.
It seemed days to Pansy until his body at last stopped twitching. It lay, still and pale on the ground. His lips were stained with the blood which he had coughed up, and his hands were still curled around his through, as though they were trying one last time to win.
"What… what happened to him?"
Granger was the first to break the silence, her voice trembling.
Andrew looked at the body in disgust. "He failed," he said flatly. "That's what happens when you fail." He glared at the other four, who still stood in shock. "Get out," he snapped. "Or you'll follow. And I'm not as merciful as the insect is." He paused, then added, "And take that with you." He looked contemptuously at Draco's body.
Potter stepped forward first, green eyes seeming to engulf his entire face. He had gone completely pale save for the tinge of purple on his temple where Andrew had hit him. Pansy knew that it would change colors completely within a few days. He looked down at Draco's body, seeming to see it for the first time. Almost in a trance, he knelt down and pulled up the left sleeve of Draco's robe. There, exposed for all to see, was that dreaded tattoo, an ugly, black dark mark.
Pansy looked around at her study, packing her things for the last time. The room, stripped of all her belongings, looked as bare as they day she had received it, only a year ago. Had it really been only a year? She felt odd, as though the year had been simultaneously years long and only seconds.
She shook her head. Reminiscing was useless. It would change nothing. Draco had died and her father had moved on to another hiding place and she was all set to begin an apprenticeship at her uncle's shop in Diagon Alley. She would never return to Hogwarts, and Hogwarts would not miss her. Pansy was not fool enough to think that anyone would mourn her passing from its halls. She had sat her N.E.W.T.S earlier, would receive her scores in July, and that was that. She was finished with her education. Now came the rest of her life. First, though, Pansy had one more thing to wrap up.
She put the last of her things into her trunk and spelled it closed, leaving it for the House Elves to pick up. She looked around one last time, saw nothing more, and nodded. Slowly, she walked out of the room, closing and locking the door behind her for the last time. Best get this over with before she lost her nerve.
Pansy saw no one as she walked through the halls of Hogwarts. All the students were either packing or partying in their common rooms, and the teachers had vanished to wherever they stayed when they were not on duty. That was good. Pansy has no wish to meet anyone at the moment. She had too much on her mind for conversation.
She climbed three flights of stairs and rapidly found herself before a familiar tapestry. She did not go into the room it hid, choosing instead to wait outside. He would know that she was there. Whether or not he chose to come out was his problem, but at least he knew she was there.
Pansy looked at the ground, not certain what to say. Now that she was here, all her courage deserted her. She sighed. "I… I've come to say goodbye," she said at last.
There was no answer.
"I'm going to work with my uncle," she continued. "The one who works in Diagon. You're… you're welcome to come visit, if you want."
Still no answer.
She had nothing more to say. She had never really had anything to say in the first place. It simply felt right that she come here, that she at least say goodbye.
She sighed again. "I should probably go back," she said, almost to herself. "I... the carriages will be leaving soon. I… Goodbye then." Before she said anything else stupid, or, worse, started crying, Pansy turned and hurried away, going back to the common room and Millicent. Soon, she would climb into one of the carriages pulled by the thestrals she could now see, and they would take her away from her childhood and into the rest of her life. She would work with her uncle and take over, would marry well and bear children, would become respected and liked within her restricted circle of pure bloods. She would witness the fall of the Dark Lord and the reconstruction of Britain. She would die, old and content, her family around her.
In the Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy looked after her. For a moment, his eyes softened as he thought about it. Then they hardened once more, and he turned abruptly away from the window, going back to the fire. He stared blankly into it, letting his thoughts flow away and waiting for the time when he would at last be able to end this properly.
Fin