A/N: Hi! So, this is my entry to the first round of "The Most Horrible Competition Ever, Definitely Don't Submit Anything!' challenge. Of the available prompts, I chose: 'pairing: Draco/Pansy', 'pineapple' and 'dialogue: "What's so funny?" / "Your face."' I hope you enjoy, and please do stop by and leave a review!
Pansy Parkinson takes a deep breath and reaches for the dark, engraved wooden handle that rings the doorbell to Malfoy Manor. It is August, and yet shadows desperately cling to the ornate pillars which hold up the porch, and spill onto the grass like molten lava, slowly, deliberately, and all-consuming.
The door eases open, and Pansy isn't sure why she expects it to creak. It doesn't. It moves with ease, and she does not need to look down to know that it had been opened by one of the few house elves who stayed in the Manor after the fall of the Dark Lord and their subsequent freedom. Many had fled from the memories and horror that enveloped the Dark Lord's reign. A much smaller proportion of them had not.
Pansy does not spare the elf a glance.
Lots of things have changed since the war ended; to the extent that Pansy often struggles to believe that the Boy Who Lived had ended it all just one month previously. The papers were always full of it, reporting with glee that the Chosen One had saved the world (again), that the Death Eaters were serving prison time under the Dementors which have sworn allegiance to the Light once more, that Severus Snape had been cleared of all charges against him, posthumously.
It amuses her that the Prophet, for all its glowing reporting of the war being won, was not two months ago attaching as many slurs to Harry Potter's name as possible.
The latest headline in the Prophet is the reason why she now stands in the empty entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. The one which shrieks in its most scandalous tone, that Draco Malfoy, the naive offspring of the dastardly Death Eater, was engaged to Astoria Greengrass, descended from the respectable Sacred Twenty-Eight but whose family was suspiciously absent from the war.
It's funny, because Pansy is sure that she'd remember her boyfriend mentioning that he was getting engaged to another woman.
Pansy expects the hall to be quiet, and this time, her expectation is met. Quite the opposite of being pleasantly muted, the silence is the crushing kind that rings in your ears. The space does not look much different to the last time Pansy had walked these floors; the grand family portrait, with three generations of Malfoy men watching her coolly as she crosses the Persian rug that hushes her footsteps to the drawing room, where she knows she will find that which she seeks.
Sure enough, nothing more than a silhouette framed in the large window, there stands Draco Malfoy. She can tell, even from the door, that he has lost even more weight since she last saw him a fortnight ago; if the light flooding in from the window didn't make it so difficult to see him in detail, she knows his hair would lack the usual shine, and his face would be gaunt, and his pale complexion would be highlighted only by the dark grey rings around his eyes.
"I hear congratulations are in order," she begins, her voice steady. She has practiced this many times in front of her bedroom mirror, and keeps her face neutral as she does it now for real. "I will admit, it was quite the surprise to find that my boyfriend was betrothed to another."
Draco sighs and in this instance she knows that the Prophet has reported the truth.
"Pans-" he begins, but she is not about to hear his excuses. She already knows what they'll be.
"You know what, it doesn't matter," she says stubbornly, sticking to her script. Finish strong, Pansy. Finish strong. "I don't need you anyway."
"Pansy, you know I didn't have a choice in the matter," Draco tries again, finally stepping out of the glare from that goddamn window so she can see him properly. She's right - he isn't looking too well. His lips are dry and pale as he grimaces. "It's good publicity, and I need all the good media I can get."
She scoffs. "The publicity? That's what this is about? Merlin, Draco."
She admits to herself that she wasn't expecting that. She was expecting to hear that she hadn't been a very good girlfriend recently; that it had been arranged for him since birth; even that he had fallen in love. And suddenly she is consumed by the rage she has been holding back since she saw that stupid paper this morning.
The next few actions are fluid and unanticipated by both parties. Before her brain even catches up with her arm, she has grabbed a pineapple from the nearest fruit bowl (seriously, who keeps a pineapple in the fruit bowl?) and the offending fruit is marking a trajectory towards Draco's head. Years of practice defending himself is all that stops the pineapple making contact with his skull; a quick flick of a wand that Pansy doesn't even see appear is all it takes to deflect the blow and soundlessly levitate the fruit to the floor, where it rolls gently to the middle of the room.
They look at each other, neither wanting to be the one to break the silence. Draco does not seem to be able to decide if he is surprised, angered or bemused by her actions. Pansy takes the decision out of his hands by smirking broadly. Her best, most Slytherin smirk.
"What's so funny?" Draco quirks an eyebrow in her direction.
"Your face," she says, matter-of-factly, and the words sound so childish and teasing that she cannot help but be reminded of when they were younger and more free from the chains of darkness that now binds their families together. "Draco, I just tried to attack you with a pineapple because you got engaged to someone without having the decency to break up with me first. Which part of that is not funny?" They both ignore the fact that her words, which sound jokey enough, are ice cold and served with a lashing of bitterness.
His mask of indecision breaks, and he cracks a small smile before the words truly sink in and he remembers the reason they are stood in his drawing room with a pineapple rolling idly at their feet. The smile slides off his face like rain on a windowpane. Pansy looks at him, stares deep into his grey eyes, trying to remember a time where he had looked at her the way she had looked at him. It dawns on her that, even as young as she had been, Pansy Parkinson had completely loved Draco Malfoy. And yet, despite that, she had been nothing more than an accessory to him. She had cared too much about him taking the Mark (even though he never confided in her about that), and she had wanted to be there for him when it was all over, but he disappeared, shut her out and then, just for the icing on the cake, got engaged to another woman.
Pansy doesn't know much about life, or how to function in this new world without the Dark Lord, or how to get over her prejudice towards house elves and Mud-Muggleborns, that was drilled into her when she was so very young, but she knows one thing.
She knows she is better off without Draco Malfoy. Even if she never loves again, she will be better. And maybe he will be better without her too.
"Goodbye, Draco," she says, without even the smallest waver in her voice. "I hope you and Astoria become very happy with each other."
She is so very proud that her voice doesn't break as she lets him go, because everything else feels pretty damn broken. Stepping delicately over the abandoned pineapple, she pretends not to notice that Draco doesn't say a word as she walks out of the drawing room, out of Malfoy Manor, and out of Draco's life.
A few months later, Draco Malfoy receives an owl.
"What is it?" his fiancée asks, but she has not even looked up from her morning coffee, so Draco knows she won't notice if he doesn't answer. He simply passes the bird a few fragments of bacon, and unties the unopened wedding invitation addressed to Pansy Parkinson from its leg. Scribbled under her carefully penned name (Draco had been sure to write this one himself), he reads:
I hope you treat her better.