I think this is the best one-shot I've written...

I hated who I was.

I hated how tainted I had become, how people could look down on me and see nothing but filth. I wasn't a girl in their eyes, I wasn't young and I wasn't innocent. I was dirty. I was dirty, but I had pure blood. Which made me a perfect target for my tortures.

You had to be hard to live in Slytherin. I wasn't, not at the start. I wasn't like Millicent. Nobody touched Millicent, she would have been able to fight them off. Me, I was always small, always thin and always weak. I had no means in which to protect myself. My family were not that well established, many of my relations had not shown utmost loyalty towards the Dark Lord, and my position in Slytherin was weak at best.

I had thought first year would be my saviour. I would be safe there, or so I had thought.

I lay in bed on my first night and felt safe. I had been sorted into Slytherin, my father would hopefully be happy enough and not punish me, and I was miles away from him anyway. I could lie asleep in my bed, naked and secure, not listening for the door to crack open or shivering and waiting for the cold, cruel hand that would slither up me. That night, I had thought I had found peace from my father at last.

I hadn't. Some sixth year boy came into my part of the room, drew my curtains around my bed, and, with his breath smelling strongly of fire whiskey, proceeded to take what he wanted from me. I had only been eleven, and yet I had known not to cry or scream; that would only make it worse, that had always just made it worse. To this day, I don't know why he picked me. Maybe it was because I was so tiny. Because most of the girls in Slytherin, were large, muscled creatures and I was one of the only ones that resembled a girl.

Once he left, I lay there with my eyes dartingly dry, and realised that it was never over.

Boys visited me often after that. Word had gotten around that I was "up for it". I simply had laid there and waited for it to be temporally over.

I built up my own defence then. Words were sometimes more cutting than a fist. I watched small and puny Draco build up respect in his house just by using mocking words and correctly timed smirks and I mirrored his actions; his female equivalent.

The older boys began to graduate and I was left alone more frequently. Then, in fourth year, Draco and I came to an unspoken bargain. He would claim me as his, taking me to the Yule Balls, and therefore scaring the others off, and in reply I would allow him to visit me nightly. His hands used to make me shiver, but at least I knew the face of the one who hurt me. We never held any affection towards each other, but there was a grudging respect there, and a mutual bond of hate for our fathers.

But I still hated my life with all my heart. My scornful words meant little to me, and the look on my victim's faces meant little. I envied them with all I had, and I couldn't remember a time when I had smiled and laughed and been happy like I had seen them.

Granger became a little fixation to me. She was uglier than me, bigger and her hair bushier. Yet, she had it all. She had friends, she had smiles and happiness, she was loved. I wanted to bring her pain. I never could, though, she never cared enough, and when I had seen her at that Yule Ball, looking oh-so-beautiful, with my Draco staring at her, my heart had broke. My heart! A thing that had been lurking dormant for so many years.

How was it fair? Granger was a Mudblood. How could she have more than me?

Ginny Weasley was another one. A Muggle-lover and extremely poor. Yet she possessed more than I could ever wish for.

I went mad at Draco one night in fifth year, mad at Draco because he represented to me the coldness in my life and I was sick of it. I striked him in the face and his eyes had gone silver, his features chiselled in ice. He didn't come to me anymore then, had basically ignored me, and my fragile protection was broken. Boys came to my room once more. I was now a Slytherin joke, and some girls spat on me when they saw me. I was hated, and I tried to tell myself I didn't care, but I think I did. Boys came and drooled on me, with clambering hands and murmured words of threat. I used to wash myself every day but the smell lingered on me. Draco used to smirk at me when he saw me, knowing the pain he had doomed me to. He cared, I know that much, but he didn't care enough to save me, when he could have so easily. He began dating other girls and I found myself feeling lower than ever.

The day in sixth year Snape assigned me to be Potions partners with Ron Weasley, I was too far gone to care. Weasley noticed it, and didn't utter any spiteful words. We worked in silence, passing needed ingredients to each other, keeping watch over each other's potions to make sure neither of us made mistakes. It felt a somewhat relief to look into Weasley's clear blue eyes, and not see darkness and disgust looking back at me. His eyes seemed observant and I knew he was trying to work out why I wasn't being the bitch I used to be. I knew the reason. I couldn't be protected anymore, not from myself and my ever haunting reflection, and so there was no point.

Things were growing worse in my sixth year though. Boys didn't just come to visit me in my bed any longer. Now they pushed me into hallways and up against walls. Any where, any time. I had no part in their play, I had no say in anything. I was numb and cold and crying inside. I had to repair my uniform nearly every night. They often tore it in their frenzy. I thought of them as animals and nothing more. That is what they acted like, with gritted teeth and fearful growls and claws and talons and beaks ready to attack.

One dark cloudy day I was walking down a hallway as usual, when I felt a hand pull me into a hallway. That day had been one of my weaker days, and I squeezed my eyes closed and waited for it to come.

It didn't.

A voice did instead.

"Parkinson, er…you forgot this in Potions. I thought I better, you know, give it to you. In case it was important." I opened my eyes to meet clear blue ones. The relief that shot through me surprised me, flooding through my body and bringing back a spark of feeling again.

It was Weasley. He was holding a small silver bracelet, one of my mother had bought me in one of her rare moments of guilt, after seeing my face after father had punished me. It held no importance to me, but I could see why Weasley might think so. It was expensive, and my name was engraved upon it. He must have thought I would miss its presence and wanted to give it back to me.

This act of sweetness shown towards a girl like me changed something inside of me. Something twisted and turned and transformed. I wasn't sure why but I hugged him suddenly and he held me in his arms. I sighed, and my eyes watered although I didn't cry. I never cried. "Thank you, Weasley."

I had forgotten how tiny I really was until he'd held me in his large lanky arms, he was so tall and so warm.

I wasn't cold anymore. He blocked out the ice with his radiating heat, and I never wanted to leave him.

When I looked into his eyes, normally so observant of me, I saw that they were clear and understanding.

I took the bracelet from him, suddenly scared, stood up, stepped back from his warmth, and promptly ran away, leaving him staring after me, confused.

His hand lingered on mine just a little too long as he handed me the jar. I was aware of his every breath, every movement, every expression on his face. I knew every freckle of that face, and his blue eyes met mine too often. My lips curved into a smile, a smile directed into his direction, a smile with no meaning behind it except that I wasn't unhappy when he was there. He always returned the smile.

Something had changed and I didn't know what.

The boys visiting me seemed to hurt me more now though. Weasley had set something alive, and I could feel again. I was made to lie there, and think of Weasley face again and again, trying to feel his warmth instead of this cold hand, trying to count his freckles instead of feel this anguish, trying to hear his laugh instead of this ragged breathing and grunts. It was difficult and I found myself being sad again, feeling pain again. But sadness and pain were a sign of humanity, and I now often had dazed fantasised thoughts about how Weasley had made me human again.

I found going home harder in the end of sixth year. I didn't want to see my father again. There was limitations to what the boys could do to me in Hogwarts, but my father could beat me into a pulp and I was sure nobody would even notice.

How was I to think of Weasley, if I wasn't going to see him again for so long?

But why I really didn't want to go back was because I was worried that, when I'd returned, Weasley would have forgotten me, and the blue eyes would hold disgust as before, instead of that beautiful understanding I had learned to depend on. What if, when I directed that subtle smile towards him, he didn't smile back but instead scowled. What if Snape didn't make us be partners in potions again, and everything was lost?

I returned to Hogwarts in my seventh year with my defences back on and my scowl firmly in sight. It hurt to move, my last night at home with father had been one of the worst, and glamour spells did little to hide the real agony. I was acting like Malfoy's reflection again, teasing all the little first years and making all of Slytherin look at me again, with more than disgust in their eyes.

Once I saw Weasley again, that all went down the drain. I crumbled in on myself, and he smiled. As we passed each other on the train, he had time for a rushed whisper, and it was one that made my heart beat again, "I missed you, Parkinson."

The Slytherins were disappointed when I became silent again, and the boys made sure I felt their disappointment. Even the younger boys came to me now. I never fought, I didn't know how to fight. My father had always told me not to fight.

But, when potions began again, Weasley and I floated towards each other again, even when Snape let us pick our own partners. People stared, but thought it was because Potter and Granger were partners, after finally getting it together, so Weasley had nobody to partner with, and I had no friends to be partners with.

His eyes crinkled up when he smiled.

At Christmas, I had caught him in a hallway. I hadn't had the bravery to buy him a present but I had wanted to. I had wanted to with all my might, but I was still worried that that was too much compassion for me to shown. I was scared.

I coughed uncomfortably but he was grinning easily. I was surprised by this.

"I…ugh…just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, Weasley."

"Is that so, Parkinson, and why's that?"

The question caught me off guard, and I didn't know what way he meant it. Then a terrible thought plagued me. What if I had just imagined all the smiles and the expression in his eyes and the warmth? What if none of that had been real, that I'd just been desperate for some kind of happiness, in any shape or form? What if my life was really as hollow as I had once thought?

When I glanced flinchingly back into his eyes, I saw his grin was still in place and his eyes twinkling.

"I'm joking, you goat! Merry Christmas to you too!" he said in a merry voice and then took something from his pocket. "I got you something."

"W-What?" I stuttered because the fear hadn't quite gone, and because I didn't want a gift, I didn't think I deserved one, I hadn't done anything.

"A present," he said in a weaker voice and his ears had gone red.

I unwrapped the messily wrapped package and laughed. It was a quill. One little quill, that meant oh-so-much. My parents had bought me presents of wealth and beauty, and none of them even compared to this one little quill. It was red and green, for Christmas I supposed, and Merry Christmas was written on it in gold writing. I knew that the red and gold was because of Christmas, but I noticed the Gryffindor colours, mixed in with one of the Slytherin colours.

"Thank you," I said and my voice was light and breathy.

"It's only something small," he said, and I could see he was embarrassed now. "I…I sort of wanted to get you something bigger, but I…er…wasn't sure whether I should."

"It's perfect," I said, and I was a little ashamed by how openly honest my voice was.

"Are there…er….many Slytherins staying for Christmas?" he asked.

"No," I replied, "it's only me and three first years."

"Would it be…er…safe for us to go for a walk around the lake?"

My face cracked into a huge smile, despite myself.

I kept nodding quickly, until we began to walk together.

We talked of nothing deep. We talked about how our Christmas exams had gone, about the subjects they'd kept up and why, about Snape and how hard Potions was and why they both didn't know they'd kept it up but now, blushes were exchanged here, they were both happy they had kept it up. We talked of nothing deep, but glances and smiles and the brushing of hands and the little space between us told us a lot more about each other.

It was the best Christmas I had ever had.

Sneaky glances increased, and I found myself smiling all the time, even when he wasn't around. He was all I thought about, all I had to think about that made me happy. I was happy. At least I thought I was, I hadn't really ever had much experience of it so I couldn't be sure.

There was something between us. When our eyes met, we understood each other. I understood Weasley more too. I understood what had made him tick. He was a very loyal person, I learned, and the way to make him angry or upset was to insult somebody he loved, like his friends and his family.

I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to make him understand me better. I wanted to make him like me, because I'd never been liked by anybody before.

I was learning so much. So much from him. Even though we didn't talk, we had a connection, and I knew, although I wasn't sure I knew how I knew, that he was coming to rely on me, as much as I did him. I was learning so much, and I learned that I'd been wrong. I had had no right to insult those people, even if it had been more out of force for protection, those people had done nothing to do with that and were innocent. I had been particularly hard on Granger in fourth year, for I'd been so jealous, and she was the first I wished to make it up to.

I wished to apologise.

Her expression had been distrustful but she had accepted my apology. Maybe she did it because I hadn't teased her or anybody in so long, or maybe it was because she could tell from my face that it was sincere.

I found it hard but I continued. I apologised to the two first years I had teased at the beginning of seventh year, they'd been shocked and frightened, but I think they accepted.

The next person I apologised to was Millicent. I'd always been rather tough on the girl because she had never been touched by the boys or visited at night, and I had hated her for that, hated her because she was big and ugly and unharmed. I'd teased her ruthlessly until I'd became indrawn and, although she had never shown any pain from my words, I knew then that I'd been unfair and I felt remorseful for it.

She hadn't accepted my apology. "What's happened to you, Pansy? What do you think you're up too? Don't come near me again." Millicent's eyes had been so full of spite.

News of my apologies spread and the Slytherins were angry. I was tarnishing their reputation. The boys didn't come to me then, and I was happy. What did I care if they hated me more? They had always hated me. I was different from them, I knew that now, and I didn't care about them anymore. I was like the quill Weasley had given me. I had only a touch of Slytherin in me now, one colour, and I was finally finding my bravery. I had to do this, and I knew they would never understand.

But Draco had come to me that night. He never came to me, not since I'd slapped him in the face. He came but his cold hands didn't touch me. "You're a disgrace, Pansy," he said in that sneerful little voice, "and we Slytherins will not put up with it." He threw something at me, a roll of parchment, and waited for me to read it.

I did, and it was like a kick in the stomach.

"Please...no, Draco…anything else but that…please…" I ripped the covers off me, offering him my used body, it was the only thing I could ever give him. "Please…don't…you know what he'll do to me…you wouldn't…"

Draco's grey eyes softened, but his expression remained hard. "I've sent that letter to your father, Pansy. You should know by now…You can't just fall in love with a Weasley and get away with it."

I began crying and he watched me. I couldn't believe that Draco knew…knew how I felt about Weasley. He knew before I knew, and yet I knew then that it was true. I was in love with Weasley, and now my father knew.

"Slytherins just don't go with Gryffindors, Pansy." His voice held no argument, he believed it with his full belief. "They're different than us. They'll never accept us. Weasley will never accept you. I've seen you staring at him, smiling at him, apologising to his best mate, but you aren't that girl. You're this girl, Pansy," he placed a cold hand on my thigh, "you're the Slytherin whore. You're too dirty."

"You've just sentenced me to my death, Draco," I told him, my voice low and breaking. "You've just told my father I'm in love with a Muggle-lover, and he's going to kill me…how could you? You know…you know what our fathers are like…"

"I also know that, even if I did hold any feelings for a Gryffindor, I would never act on them or portray them in any way."

"You haven't got a clue," I raged. "You don't know what my life…you don't know how he…you don't know anything!" I pushed past him, throwing him out of my way, and threw a plain black robe over my pale body, grabbed my quill and my wand and ran.

The quill was the only thing that mattered, that and my broom (I conquered it from the school broom closet, once I'd realised I needed it). With those, I was well equipped to flee from anywhere my father could find me.

I hid in Hogsmeade. I had possessed no money to bring with me. I resorted to stealing food. I became extremely dirty and slept on the streets, with my hood over my head, hiding my face.

My face surrounded me, posters of me hung every where. The contact was Dumbledore, he was obviously trying to find me, not my father. My father had disowned me now, I guessed. I did care, it hurt like hell because, even after everything, I wanted to please him. I wanted him to love me. I wanted my mother to notice me.

The Hogwarts school year ended. They'd done their NEWTS and I wondered how I might have done if I'd had the chance. It was a relief not to be in Hogwarts though, even with all the physical dirt that covered me, I still felt cleaner than having baboons like Goyle clambering on top of me.

I rarely wanted to eat and I became very weak, but I was well able to take care of myself. I had done so for so long now. My life was no worse here than before. I knew that I only needed to hide until I was eighteen. Once I was of the legal age, my father would have no power over me and I would be able to depart from this country myself. My thoughts were extremely muddled and slow but I dreamt of Weasley every night.

But I hadn't realised just how weak I had become. I seemed to stay in a half dazed trance. Not really asleep, but not properly aware of anything. I couldn't walk far and it hurt to lift myself up. I stayed in a dark alley, and felt very alone.

The day Hogwarts let out, students covered Hogsmeade. I tried to sink into the shadows, in hope that nobody would see me.

But he did. Of course he did. Draco Malfoy never missed a trick did he? His grey eyes had flared when he'd seen my fallen stature in the darkness and he sauntered over. I could hardly lift my wand and yet I did, looking at him evenly. "Keep away from me, Malfoy," I said shakily. My voice sounded strange, and I wondered how long it had been since I'd run away.

He walked towards me easily and took the wand from my hand and snapped it in one fluid movement. I watched the last of my defence go. I was completely helpless. There was no way I could stop him now. I was completely at his disposal.

"Merlin, Pansy, look at the state of you," he examined, and he did seem a bit unnerved. "When was the last time you ate, eh? When was the last time you had something to drink?" He sighed, looked around, then took an empty, dirty bottle from the alley way and transfigured it into a large chalice of pumpkin juice. Transfiguration had always been Draco's best subject, not Potions as many presumed. He lifted the chalice to my lips and I let it wash down my throat. I hadn't realised how painful and dry it had been.

Feeling began to come back to my body again. My fingers tingled.

"You're such a fool, Pansy" he chocked out. He transfigured a small rapper into an apple and lifted it up for me to bite into. I didn't question his actions. I didn't care. The apple tasted heavenly, and, with just one bite, I realised how starving I really was, and started biting and swallowing without even chewing. When finished the apple, I was still starving but that seemed to be all I was getting from him.

"I'm not a fool," I said once I'd finished. "This is what you did to me. How was I to face my father, after your letter? Would you face your father, if I'd sent him a letter telling him that you had fallen for Granger and were disgracing all of the Slytherins? You know what my father does to me, you know what he would have done to me. How could you have…?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and his words struck a cord in me. I had never heard Draco Malfoy apologise before. "I was angry, alright? I hadn't thought. I just sent the letter."

I started at him, and we were both silent.

"Malfoy!" Goyle and Crabbe were coming for him. "You alright? What you doing in there?"

I looked beseechingly at Malfoy. The sadness and torment in Malfoy's eyes startled me, I had never seen him look like that before.

"I'm sorry…" I knew then what he was about to do because of the finality in his voice.

I turned my head away from him as I heard him shout, "Crabbe! Goyle! Come here! Guess who I just found!" There was the sound of large plundering footsteps and then grunts of surprise and delight.

"Our little Slytherin whore," Draco continued, and his eyes were empty again as he looked down on me, "back for a little more."

And then, all I saw was Weasley's face in my mind, and I realised I had to fight. I couldn't let them win. Not anymore. My father had always told me not to fight, but my father wanted me dead now. I couldn't let them touch me now.

I tried to stand as the two large boys crept closer to me, casting large shadows over me. I couldn't. But I didn't give up.

In once moment, I knew what to do.

I screamed.

I screamed for help.

I called out for help, like I had never done before.

Goyle and Crabbe jumped back, shocked. Never before had any of them heard me scream. My scream rang on and, surprisingly, somebody was there, somebody was there, coming to save me. I was only Pansy Parkinson, I didn't deserve to be saved and yet somebody had come, three people in fact.

The last thing I saw before I collapsed against the wall was a flash of red hair…

Somebody was covering me in a robe. Then they took me in their large arms. One finger touched lightly off my face. I felt protected, at last. I opened my eyes and saw clear blue eyes.

"Weasley…?"

"It's okay, Parkinson," he whispered quietly, "it's gonna be alright. Go back to sleep…"

And I did. Because I was protected now.

I woke up in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. There was hardly any sound, and I wondered why until I realised that the school had been shut.

"Ms. Parkinson, I see you are awake. How're you feeling?" It was Dumbledore.

Madam Pomfrey was there too. "You should be okay now, my dear. You were terribly malnourished and dehydrated but I feel, as long as you keep your sugar levels up and take care of yourself, you will be perfect again in a couple of days."

I nodded because I didn't know what to say.

Dumbledore took one of my hands in his. A fatherly gesture, and one that made my eyes fill. "I want you to know," he said, "that I will do everything in my power, and that is rather a lot, to keep you safe from your father. We know all of what happened to you through your stay here in Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy was made tell us, and I am deeply saddened that you had to take on this burden alone and felt that you couldn't come to us. I-I'm very sorry, Ms. Parkinson." He did look deeply upset and I squeezed his hand in return. Suddenly he had wrapped me in his fragile little arms and, without warning, I was crying. The walls were crumbling, the defence falling, and leaving everything bare for him to see. I was crying like I had never cried before, feeling everything spill out. I wanted to stitch myself together again, but I didn't know how.

I felt like a child again, and he felt like a father to me, the father I had always wanted and never had.

"I'm so sorry," I told him, spluttering. I was so sorry, for everything I had done or let be done to me. It had gone on too long.

"It's going to be okay, Ms. Parkinson, I'm going to make everything okay again…"

What I hadn't noticed was that there was three students still in the school, and they were watching this scene. "Is she okay?" Ron asked Madam Pomfrey as he watched me cry. I was ignorant of his presence.

"No," Madam Pomfrey said, and the three students were shocked by the shudder in her voice, "but she will be."

Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist, pulling her closer, and turned to Ron with caring green eyes. "Ron, mate, are you alright?" Both of Ron's best friends knew, had known ever since I had disappeared and seen his reaction, how much he cared for me now.

"No," he answered quietly, his eyes trained on me, "but I will be." Then he stepped forward into my room to where I was waiting for him, with open arms, tears rolling down my face and a sad, grateful smile, a smile that he would always return.

I'm so extremely proud of this, so please offer me a couple of reviews. I spent nearly the whole day writing this. Whatcha think? What should the rating be?