For FragileWords's Challenging Challenge on HPFF

Ships: Draco/Pansy, Draco/Astoria
Summary: I love him, I really do. But I don't know if I can stand this anymore...

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Tolerance

Draco Malfoy was my everything. Ever since I first laid eyes on him at the Welcome Feast back in our first year, I knew he was the one who was going to be the hardest to crack. He was a challenge. I fawned over him, I babied him and eventually, I got my way. I'll never forget the moment he just turned to me and asked me to Hogsmeade all those years ago in fourth-year. It had been disgusting outside, sleet and rain hammering down the grounds. He was drenched from head to toe and stormed over to me and the girls, grabbed my arm and yanked me towards him. His face was set, as though he was determined to do this, as though he'd been talking himself up to it for months, and he asked me. I remember throwing a glance back towards the girls, who were clamoured around, heads together. Daphne looked up at me and gave a small nod: 'go on'. I turned back. "Of course."

He took me to the Yule Ball too. I was so excited. No, ecstatic. I was going to the ball with Draco. I bragged about it to anyone that would listen. He didn't choose Daphne, with her slim, tall figure and willowing blonde hair. He didn't choose Nott's sister, Melanie, the pretty one with the big boobs, nor Vaisey's sister, and everyone knew how slutty she was. It was going to be me and him, together. I didn't stop smiling for weeks.

That all changed after our seventh year. He'd changed. Ever since the Final Battle, he'd been different. He rented a grotty flat in Muggle London, overrun with rats with a disgusting stench of damp. He drank. A lot. Anything he could get his hands on, that might just make him forget, he tipped down his throat quicker than you could say 'Quidditch'. As for Quidditch, not even tickets to an Arrows' match could tempt him out of his confines. His mother sent him money; his father sent him the drink. I used to visit him a lot. We'd sit there in awkward silence. His hands shook because he'd hidden the alcohol from me, as though I couldn't taste it on his breath when we kissed our obligatory kiss. His gaze was empty. I felt like I was staring into two tunnels, only there was no light at the end, not for me, because I knew the truth.

It was late August. The sun was awkward, hanging low in the sky and blinding as I walked swiftly towards the grungy basement flat. The Muggles in their cars crept slowly down the street, their vision as obscured as my own. It was half-six. The traffic was heavy still. I cursed the godforsaken place. I hated it. I slipped down a street free of cars and buses. A mother with a brood of children walked past me, her hair slicked back greasily into a ponytail, a fluorescent green tracksuit covering her lumps and bumps. I stepped onto a stoop as she walked past, pushing a buggy that looked like it had been found on a rubbish dump and scolding her older children with a shrill Cockney accent. I cringed and hurried away. My Muggle clothes itched. I hated wearing them but, around here, it was necessary.

I slipped down the rickety staircase carefully, in case any more of the rock crumbled under my feet. The paint was chipping off the door and I knocked quietly. The food in my bag was weighing me down. Chances were he hadn't eaten for the last few days. He'd been happier than usual. The stench of alcohol had lessened, though still prominent. After waiting for a minute, and getting no response, I took my copy of his key out and let myself in. There was post covering the door mat inside – garish adverts for double glazing, bills that hadn't been paid. I shut the door noiselessly. He was a light sleeper. I slipped my wand out, sorting the papers into a neat pile by the door. It would do for now.

The flat was silent. Then a moan, a moan of bliss filled the still air. A giggle, a woman's giggle. I slid my bag off my shoulder and drop it quietly onto the floorboards. There was not a noise from the living room, not even the vague humming of the mouldy old television set that the previous owner left was hanging in the air. The noise was coming from the back of the house. I closed my eyes, knowing what was going to meet me before I'd even seen it. I felt my eyes sting, like someone had pricked them, torturing them. I shook my head. I shouldn't have been feeling like that.

I pressed my ear to the door of the next room, hoping that the noises were coming from upstairs, through the poor insulation. Another laugh like wind chimes tinkled through the air. It was undoubtedly from this flat. The door was ajar. I could hear material shuffling. They hadn't even heard me coming in. I took a deep breath and braced myself, pushing the door open a little more and peering through the gap.

The curtains were shut and the lights were off but their hair shone in the darkness. She was straddling him, her honey blonde hair kissing her back, some of it tumbling over her chest as she bent her head to kiss him. His hands pushed her curls back from her face, pulling her closer and closer. I couldn't see her face, not in the lighting, but I knew that she wasn't just anyone to him from the way his thumbs were softly stroking across her cheek, the smile that spread across his face as he pulled her to him again. They still hadn't seen me. I stepped away as his hands snuck around her back to unclip her bra. I slid into the shadows, the tears now unstoppable. I gathered my things and left.

That wasn't the first time, either. I'd met the same scene over Christmas, stayed just as silent and watched them kiss on his bed. He grew steadily happier and happier. Every time I saw him, two or three times a week, he'd sometimes kiss me properly, have a limp arm around my shoulder on the occasion that he saw it to be fit, and I could see his happiness grow. He didn't drink as much: I could still taste and smell it, but it was fainter, like last night's nightcap. He started talking of a job. He got up and walked with a bit of the swagger that I remembered. He was the man I had fallen in love with again, but not mine. I love him, I really do. But I don't know if I can stand this anymore, sharing him with a girl who, though I have never confronted her, clearly makes him so much happier than I do.

"How's Draco?" Melanie Nott asked me, taking a drag of her cigarette and holding one out for me. I declined gently.

"He's…okay." 'Okay' is the polite equivalent of: 'keep your nose out.' Melanie nodded, puffing out more smoke than the Hogwarts Express. "Why?"

She never asked about him. She always said he didn't make enough of an effort, that someone better deserved my affections. She was older, she knew better, that's what she used to say, back in the day.

"Heard some rumours."

"They're not true," I snapped before she could list his many flaws. She pushed a strand of bleach blonde hair behind her ear.

"Didn't say they were," she muttered. My mind was turning, though. She looked at me intensely. She knew me better than most. "Pansy, don't…don't take this as set down in stone but I've heard on the grapevine."

"I'm not interested in your petty gossip, Mel," I said, trying to tone down the screech that usually emitted from my mouth. She shrugged again.

"Whatever, your luck out," she said, putting out the cigarette and standing up. My eyes fell to the table. I wanted to know. I really wanted to know. She sat back down and smiled kindly. "Apparently he's seeing another girl." My eyes stung. Who had found out? "Younger. She's just seventeen." I sighed, looking at her and praying my eyes didn't look as watery as they felt. She reached across the table and put a hand on my arm. "Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's sister." My heart stopped. Mel rose. "I've got to go. I'm sorry." I nodded. Once she'd left, I followed, Apparating as soon as I could, my heart in my mouth.

The thing was, it was so obvious. The Greengrass family were gorgeous, all of them. Daphne was light on her feet like a fairy, she didn't walk, she danced. Her younger brother, Castor, was haughty and proper, and had a smile charming enough to challenge Gilderoy Lockhart, back in the day. Astoria was beautiful. She was funnier than her siblings, a caring Ravenclaw. If there was one student that I would have turned to in a real crisis, I'd have chosen her. She was calming and sweet. Daphne used to confide everything in her. She had this ability to soothe you, to make you feel better with a few words that barely made sense.

I was sat on the floor of the girls' bathroom on the fourth floor. The sun was beautiful outside, streaming through the windows, dancing on the tiles. I was huddled on the floor, my arms around myself, my legs stretched out in front of me, my head hung down. Every day I watched Draco destroy himself further, doing this unspeakable task that he was so hell-bent on completing. He barely spoke anymore, he was paler and tired. His eyes were always red, bloodshot from the tears that he shouldn't have been crying. Each sob hurt me, like a bullet through the heart and I couldn't heal him.

The door swung open and I looked up. It was a free lesson, there shouldn't have been anybody about. Granger. She walked in wiping her eyes and walked straight past me to the sink. She glared in the mirror for a moment and then sensed someone was watching her. She turned and saw me. Her face contorted into a scowl.

"Shouldn't you be in your common room?" she demanded, picking up her bag. I glared lazily at her, hoping my own tears weren't too obvious. She huffed and stormed back out. Jumped up Mudblood. Got a badge and she thought she ran the place.

"Pansy?" the voice was soft and gentle. I looked up sharply, expecting to see Granger only to find Daphne's little sister beside me. "Are you okay?" She sat down gracefully, putting a hand on my shoulder. I nodded, wiping my eyes. "What is it?"

"Draco," I stammered. I told her everything and she listened. She put an arm around me, she nodded at the right moments. I knew she was supposed to be in a lesson, but my own selfishness was more important.

"You just have to be there for him when he needs you, that's all you can do," she advised, squeezing my shoulders before getting up. "Everything will be okay."

Only, everything's not okay. I took her advice and look where it got me. I was there when he needed me more than anything, all through sixth-year and now, now that he's been destroyed, but what am I to him? Am I still his girlfriend, or am I just a token? I'm clearly not good enough to fuck, because that's what they do. They fuck. Each other. With each other. With me. And I'm not standing for it one moment longer.

My blood is boiling as I Apparate straight onto the Muggle road. Who cares who sees me? I run down the steps, almost slipping on the one that has eroded away to nothing. I don't knock, just walk in. It's the Easter holidays, she'll be there. I'm right. I don't even pause outside the bedroom door before I open it, slamming the lights on. She's giggling under him this time. He pauses and looks across.

"Pansy!" he exclaims, rolling off her. His jeans are on but unzipped and his belt is hanging loose around his middle. He passes Astoria something to cover herself with, doing up his trousers quickly. She's grown up. I didn't pay much attention to her last year, but her hair is paler, her nose more defined, her chest spilling out of her bra. She pulls Draco's shirt over her body, holding it in place tightly, and looks at me guiltily. He stands up, puts his hand on my arm in a pacifying manner but I yank it away. He points to the hall and I storm back out, a last contemptuous glare at Astoria.

"I…" he begins but the rest of the words fail to form. He rubs his throat and then the back of his neck. He casts a glance back to the closed door behind which seventeen-year-old Astoria is laying. He looks down to the ground.

"Just say you're sorry and we can forget this ever happened," I murmur, leaning on the wall and hugging myself, since he is making no effort to do so. He flushes and shakes his head. His eyes are alight, alive again for the first time in months, in years. In fact, were they ever this alive?

"I… I'm not sorry," he murmurs. My eyes fly up. "I –" he forces himself to stop but I know he was going to apologise for his lack of apology. "Pansy, I know I should have finished things but –"

"Should have?" I screech, unable to stop myself. "Understatement of the fucking century, Malfoy. It's the first thing you do before you go and shag some jumped up little hussy who thinks that the world stops for her. I've given up hours for you, days sometimes just sat here in silence. Were you thinking of her?" I demand, though I know the truth already. He sighs and that's enough of a response. "You know what, screw you. Screw both of you," I add as the door creeps open and Astoria pokes her head around, still wearing nothing but his shirt.

"Astoria," he warns and the door closes. I turn to walk away but he stops me with a touch of his hand on my shoulder. "I'm not sorry that I started this thing with her," he tells me, as though that's what I wanted to hear. I know I'm crying but I can't stop it. "But I am sorry that I hurt you. I didn't know what to do so –"

"So you just let me waste the last ten months of my life waiting hand and foot on you?" It is a lie, an exaggeration and I know that, but he doesn't. I wasted my time because I loved him and I thought that maybe I could show him that if he had me, he didn't need his blonde bit on the side.

"Please, Pansy. We've barely had a relationship for the past two years." He's going back to sixth-year, the last time I saw him and I mattered to him, back in the days when I was his world.

"I loved you." I sound pathetic, I know I do but it hurts. It feels like he has grabbed Astoria's hands, made her scratch at my chest until she reached my heart and then yanked it out and threw it out of the front door for the rats to feast upon.

"Don't," he murmurs, as though my words are actually hurting him, "I am not proud of what I've done, but nor do I regret it."

"We're going in circles," I point out, calmer now. My anger has lulled, the cruel calm after the storm is washing over me like waves lapping a beach, sweet and gentle, a lover's caress. Oh, the irony. "I hope you're happy together."

It's the only thing I can think to say as I lean up, kiss his cheek, one last jolt of electricity shooting up my body from the touch of my lips on his skin, and I leave, dropping his key on the floor before the door slams shut behind me. My tears don't stop, my sobs scream through the spring air as I walk along the grotty street, but I don't really hear them. The sounds of the front door slamming into the frame and the clink of my key on the floorboards are ringing through my ears. They stay with me for days, a reminder of my final goodbye. My wake-up call.

A/N: Yuck. So I don't like this. I can't write Slytherins, I know Pansy's character is a bit off but my opinion on her (for this!) is that she's showed mainly through Harry's eyes. She could have a soft side…maybe…

I'm thinking of continuing this to show Draco and Astoria's perspectives on everything - what do you think?

So, I think this satisfies everything needed for the challenge. It was definitely 'challenging'…I am never writing these characters again. Ever. If you have any advice on how to improve this, please let me know :]