Author's Notes: Character sketch on Pansy Parkinson in preparation for my "I Never" piece.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Don't tell me I'm beautiful when we both know you're thinking I'm not.
Pansy loathes Draco Malfoy sometimes, absolutely cannot stand him when he gets like this, all pompous and hoity-toity and expecting everyone to be impressed with his golden hair and his black, black heart.
At other times, she adores him, but those other times are growing fewer and far between and Pansy is tired of being strung out behind this beautiful boy. She loathes him when he tells her she's beautiful (because they both know he likes his beauty fine and refined and elegant and graceful and Pansy is none of these). Pansy's beauty is hard, jagged lines and rough edges, beauty that is in her blue eyes that know more than they tell, beauty in the harsh cut of her hair, beauty that says "you can't handle me" and a face that says "I don't believe you." Draco doesn't like Pansy's brand of beautiful and she hates him for telling her he does.
Don't tell me I'm special when we both know I'm not the special you're looking for.
She hates, above everything else, his lies, and nearly everything he says to her now is dripping in deceit. And she hates it.
He whispers that she's a special girl and she wants to slap the smirk off his face and the lie out of his mouth. Draco's special is pretty dresses and coy smiles and batted lashes—it is not Pansy's special—Pansy's special is bright brilliance and hard, fast love—it is not Draco's special and Pansy knows that and Draco knows that and it infuriates Pansy that Draco would still string her along even after he's chosen Astoria Greengrass.
Don't treat me like I'm breakable when we both know you'd like nothing more than to break me into pieces.
Pansy is angry.
Anger like winter winds and broken glass and frozen sunshine—anger that consumes her like a freezing inferno, a roaring waterfall of ice and glass and broken dreams.
She is angry and she cannot do a thing about it, because he smiles and she melts like winter in springtime and she is so angry but she is helpless like broken glass against his charms.
She is weak and it makes her bitter. Slytherins are not weak. They are not meant to be wooed and taken care of and soothed and Pansy hates that Draco treats her like she's a delicate glass doll, especially since she knows he hates her almost as much as she hates him and would break her in a heartbeat and it makes her angry that he would lead her on like this, treat her like porcelain only to dream about shattering her like glass.
Don't tell me you love me when we both know you don't mean it.
Pansy hates him when he whispers I love you and it's only to get her to sigh and melt and play the weak-kneed heroine and pretend Draco is her Prince Charming.
There was a time, a time of a different girl and a different boy, a time when Pansy believed him and fell for him and his sugar coated lies. There was a time, but that time is washed away and gone gone gone and now Pansy only laughs when he says I love you, she laughs to keep the desperation inside.
He doesn't love her—his love is for bird-like girls with delicate smiles and gentle dreams, not for Pansy, who smiles like winter (cold and hard and unforgiving) and doesn't dream (dreams make you weak). He doesn't love her and Pansy wishes like hell she didn't love him.