A/N: The title and quote at the top of the fic are from the poem "Ways to Hurt a Thing" by Kaveh Akbar, which I think everyone should read if they enjoy this fic.
"In order to be consumed first you need to be consumable, but there is not a single part of you I could fit in my mouth."
Ways to Harm a Thing by Kaveh Akbar.
Her mother had given her strict instructions on who she could and could not become friendly with in her House. Pansy remembers the moment she'd opened the letter that contained the instructions like it was yesterday; the crisp feel of the parchment as she untied it from the owl's leg over a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, the trepidation in her heart at the sight of her mother's grandiose handwriting, and the sinking feeling in her stomach as she finished reading. It wasn't like there was anything new in the letter. Every child predicted to go into Slytherin had gone into Slytherin, and Pansy had long been drilled on the politics of higher society.
But in the few days between sending off a letter to her mother about her Sorting and receiving a reply, Pansy had lapsed. Something her mother would have punished her dearly for if she'd known about it.
Befriend the Malfoy, her mother wrote. Pansy had all but ignored him.
Do not engage with the Zabini, they're backstabbers the lot of them. Pansy had found Blaise to be intellectual and good company.
It was the last one that she truly struggled with.
Do not become friendly with the mudblood-lover Greengrass or half-blood. Tracey, despite her blood status, had been witty and funny. Pansy had thought they could be good friends. Daphne, though, had been something else. She couldn't put her wand on it, the meaning behind her fascination with the blonde girl escaping her mind like a cornish pixie, but Pansy couldn't help but want to be near her.
In the span of five days, Pansy had managed to nearly forget years of punishments and training. She could not afford a sixth day.
She's sat with Draco in the Common Room, her legs thrown over the boy's lap as he discusses the Herbology homework with Nott, and trying to ignore him. His voice grates on her ears as it always has, but the soft movements of his fingers against her knees is relaxing, so she stays. She presses her face against the couch and stares up and out of a window into the Black Lake, watching fish swim lazily and seaweed sway in the current.
The sound of Draco's nasal voice is cut off by rumbling sound of bricks rearranging themselves to form the Common Room entrance. Hardly anyone looks up, but Pansy can't help but glance over. It's as though she already knows who will walk through the entryway and can't help but be drawn in to the sight.
Daphne Greengrass struts through the entrance with Tracey Davis on her heels as though she's walking the runway of a fashion show in Paris. Her school robe is folded over her arm as she walks, revealing the flowy black skirt that dances around her thighs and the white blouse just a shade off sheer. Pansy's can't tear her eyes away from the shadow of a dark color under that blouse, from the way her long blonde hair falls over her shoulder like liquid silk.
Draco just brushes a thumb over a sensitive spot on her knee, a quill callous catching the skin slightly, and Pansy jerks.
"Watch it," she warns, her voice low with irritation.
Draco rolls his eyes at her. "Whatever you say, Pansy."
She wonders not for the first time if his talented hands can really outweigh the...everything else about him. Brushing the thought away as useless and hopeless, Pansy turns her gaze back to the window. Or, at the very least, tries to.
Daphne is sitting below it, at a small round table with two arm chairs, across from Davis. They're playing chess. Pansy can't help the derivative sigh welling up in her at the hopeless look on Davis' plain face. She can't understand why Daphne insists on the halfblood's company when she is so far behind every pureblood in the grade, but then again, Pansy has never understood anything about Daphne before.
Like how she can't understand why she crosses her knees like that, when all it does it drive her skirt higher up her thighs. Pansy feels goosebumps on her own skin raise at the very sight; should Daphne be too cold in the dungeons to care so little about modesty?
Pansy wonders if her thighs are covered in goosebumps. And then she realizes what she's thought and snatches her gaze from the other girl's legs, a flush creeping up her neck as she stares at the Common Room's ceiling.
Stop thinking about her! She scolds herself. Mother would disown me if she could see me now.
Speaking of, had anyone seen her? Pansy tries to nonchalantly glance around the room through lidded eyes, watching for any lingering gazes. Draco and Nott are still raving over Sprout's insult of a minimum essay length; Crabbe and Goyle, ten feet away and surrounded by sweets wrappers, don't seem to be aware of the passage of time at all; Zabini was reading by the fire; and-
Icey-green eyes lock with her's, and Pansy's gaze is frozen.
She looks away first, unable to stand looking at the crooked smirk on Daphne's face a moment longer.
"Merlin," she whispers to herself without thinking, and then pointedly kicks Draco in the wrist when he looks over.
The Yule Ball is everything Pansy has ever wanted. She wears pink dress robes with frills and lace and everything she asked her mother for. Draco wears all black, of course, with a small pink rose for an accent to match her own robes. They dance in and out of the crowds in sync, as though they had never been able to dance on their own. Their conversations are fluid and easy, the two of them comfortable around each other like this after so many years being the top dogs in their year in Slytherin.
The Ball should, by all rights, be perfect.
Every time she catches sight of Granger and Krum, she feels sick. The sight of the know-it-all shrew who broke Draco's nose and his shot at top student in their year, dressed like a proper witch and dancing with a celebrity Quidditch star, smiling for all the world to see - it makes her lips pinch and her fingers tighten around Draco's to the point that he winces.
Pansy can't put her finger on why it bothers her, seeing Granger and Krum so clearly swept away with each other. She tells herself it's because Granger is a mudblood and Krum is decidedly not.
(That's a lie. She knows exactly why she hates the sight of them, and it's because they're everything her mother won't allow her to be.)
Eventually, when she and Draco dance into the orbit of Granger and Krum once-too-many times, she drags her date to sit down at one of the tables, glowering at the dance floor from a distance.
"I'm going to get some punch," Draco says suddenly after five minutes of near silence, standing from the table and all but running away from her.
The sight of his retreating back causes the knots in her stomach to tighten further. Pansy looks away and stares down at her lap, twisting her fingers in the pink satin and lace until her knuckles are white with the effort.
For the past four years, Pansy has done everything her mother has told her to. Befriend the right people, ignore the wrong, antagonize the few. Study these subjects, abhor these. Wear this, like this - never that, like that. Stand straight, stand calm, and be the perfect pureblood miss. For the past four years, Pansy has listened to the whispers behind her back. Pug-faced, they whisper; bully, bigot, absolute bitch.
Draco had been like a ship in a storm for her, and Pansy clung to his side like a barnacle. She wasn't proud of it, but her mother was. And that was enough.
(It wasn't enough and she knew that every time she felt nauseous at the sight of Granger's love-stricken smile. She knew it every time she caught herself staring after the wisp of blonde locks around a corridor corner, every time her eyes strayed towards soft, curvaceous figures, every time she looked into Draco's silver-blue eyes and wished they were cold green, like frosted mint.)
The chair next to her pulls out again, and Pansy opens her mouth to apologize to Draco - only to realize it's not Draco sitting next to her anymore.
Daphne looks like she stepped out of a story. She's wearing men's dress robes, but they're clearly tailored to her figure. Jet black trousers embroidered with golden flowers up the sides, strappy black heels that take her to Amazon heights, a silk, white button up, and a glittering, gold, ankle-length crepe cape with padded shoulders. Pansy drags her eyes over the ensemble with a dry mouth and parted lips, unable to stop herself.
She reaches Daphne's neck and abruptly swallows at the contrast of dangling gold star earrings against the pale column of the other girl's throat. It's bared to the cold air, Daphne's thick hair pulled back into a ponytail, her bangs braided back and pinned.
She looks gorgeous, and Pansy looks over Daphne's shoulder, away from her pretty face, to try and find Draco in the crowds beyond. She thinks she almost spots his head of slicked-back hair when Daphne leans forward on her elbow and places her chin in the palm of her hand.
Pansy feels helpless under Daphne's gaze. She tries to remember why she isn't supposed to let herself be drawn into the other girl's orbit, but her mind comes up blank. Daphne's eyes pierce into her with a heat so hot it feels like ice is encasing her, freezing her in place.
She has incredibly defined cheekbones, she thinks absently. They're so sharp Pansy is sure that she'd slice her fingers on them were she to reach out and touch them.
"Seems a shame that you're sitting by yourself," Daphne says cooly, tilting her head. Movement catches Pansy's eyes, and she realizes that Daphne is tracing an embroidered flower on her pant leg - and then she realizes how far apart Daphne's knees are and feels her breath catch.
Think of Mother, she tries to remind herself.
"I'm not alone, though," Pansy replies as smoothly as she can, but she knows the crack in her voice has betrayed her. "After all, I'm sitting with you."
Daphne smiles, slow and languidly. "So it would seem, yes. I love your robes, by the way. Why waste them sitting on the sidelines?"
She glances towards the dance floor, and just as Pansy follows her gaze, Granger and Krum dance in and out of view. Pansy feels her stomach curdle like spoiled milk, and glares out into the crowd.
"Draco will be back shortly," she says in lieu of an actual reason. Hopefully, Daphne will take it to mean she is simply waiting on her date to dance, and not that Pansy doesn't want to share the floor with the oh-so-happy couple.
"He looks pretty held up," Daphne murmurs, pointing a single finger in the opposite direction.
Pansy turns to look over her shoulder. Draco is several tables away, speaking to a rather pretty Durmstrang boy. He's caught up in whatever topic they're speaking on, gesturing wildly with an open smile. She knows that if she brings up the sight later, asks about the boy, that Draco will flush and change the topic. The two of them have always been quite similar.
Similar enough to become each other's voice of reason. She should get up and go over, save Draco from the lashing his father will give him were anyone else to look up and see...
"Neither of us are incredibly interested in dancing," Pansy says with a delicate shrug, turning back to look at Daphne. The girl is staring at her intently. "We do enough of that at the family balls."
It's supposed to push her away. The Greengrasses haven't been invited to any solstice or family ball in nearly a decade after Lady Greengrass moved to vote for the inclusion of Muggle Studies as a core Hogwarts subject on the Board of Education. The vote hadn't gone in favor of the subject, and after revealing themselves as sympathizers the Greengrasses had been shunned by the more traditional families.
Daphne doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest. "Sounds like you're bored and need a change in partners"
Pansy can't help the thrill that runs up her spine as Daphne's eyes her, looking her up and down slowly, blatantly. "Oh? Any suggestions on who?"
Daphne smirks, a small smirk as her eyes snap back from Pansy's waist to her eyes. "Just the one."
And then she holds out her hand.
"Care to dance?"
Pansy needs to say no. She needs to frown and spout something off that will send Daphne Greengrass running, something that if it got back to her Mother would only be cause for pride.
She reaches out, manicured fingers hovering over Daphne's hand, uncertain.
Say no, she says to herself.
No, Daphne's hand seems to respond, a smug look in her eyes as the other girl doesn't wait for Pansy to reach a conclusion. Her fingers, long and suited for music and utterly distracting to Pansy, lace with Pansy's shorter, stubbier ones. The tall fourth year pulls her up and out of her chair and leads her to the dance floor in long, sure strides. Pansy floats behind her like a wil-o-wisp.
They don't reach the dance floor before another person has snatched Pansy's free hand. Yanked to a halt, Pansy and Daphne both look to see who has stopped them.
It's Draco, a pleasant but cold smile on his face and a glass of punch in his other hand. "Thank you, Greengrass, but I'll take it from here."
Pansy expects Daphne to let her go without a fight. No one stands against Draco Malfoy in Slytherin - just like no one else distracts Pansy Parkinson in Slytherin. Daphne is an exception to both, it seems, and she stares Draco down with a patronizing smile.
"Oh, but Pansy and I were so eager to catch up," she says, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. "Right, Pansy?"
Pansy can't look at either of them, eyes flitting between her two hands, trapped between safety and the unknown. She can feel every callous on Draco's palm, every wrinkle that she's traced over laboriously for Divination; she knows his hands as well as her own. Daphne's in contrast, is entirely new, and she aches with the need to learn every curve of it, every dip in her heart line and soul line, every callous on her fingers.
But already the dreamy haze of what-if has lifted from her eyes.
If Draco saw enough to step in, others have seen. Word will have already gotten back to her Mother. She can already hear the shrill screeches of a Howler only to be opened in private. It's not too late, though.
Pansy lets Daphne's hand go, and doesn't look at her. "Thank you for keeping me company, Daphne."
She can hear Daphne sigh as she steps closer to Draco's side. Pansy doesn't look up to watch her walk away. Draco leads her onto the dance floor and the two spin in step with each other, practiced and poised.
They don't speak to each other. Draco understands exactly how she feels, and doesn't slight her by showing pity. Pansy just tries not to imagine a different shade of blonde every time she looks at him.
A/N: I realized (very very) belatedly that I hadn't written a wlw Harry Potter fic in around two years and set to rectify that immediately. I have two more fics planned to write after this, all one shots because I'm not doing anymore multi-chapters until after I finish the Twister Series, and I'm accepting prompts!
If you would like to send me a prompt, you can do it on my tumblr apvrodite (or my Harry Potter wlw blog, nymphadoravtonks). Remember, there is more fanfic published on my AO3 account polyxena_chatoyant.
Leave a comment if you liked this, they motivate me to write more!