The girl adjusted her slight frame to allow more light from her wand tip to glance across the page she was feverishly scrawling on. She wiped away a stray tear and pushed her dark hair out of her eyes, choking back a sob as she detailed the last twelve hours to her diary. It was days like this that Pansy felt that her only friend was this small book, in which she'd meticulously recorded the goings on of her life for the last five years. She let out a shaky laugh, thinking of the boy who had given her the bewitched little book on their first train ride to Hogwarts.

"My mother bought it, actually," the little fair-haired boy told her as he was unwrapping a wriggly chocolate frog. "She told me girls like that sort of thing, so I assumed it would be fitting."

"Thank you, Draco. It's lovely. My favorite color." She smiled. This boy, this gorgeous, thoughtful little wizard, would one day be her husband.

"I know it is. I hope you like it," he said, standing to pull a bag out of the luggage compartment. "Want some more sweets?"

"No, I didn't eat breakfast. The house elves were fit to be tied this morning. Out of their muddled little heads. Father beat them soundly, but nothing gets through to the little ingrates." She flipped through the blank book, thinking of what she would write in her first entry.

"I hate the stupid things. I wish we could just wipe them out." He stuffed a handful of Drooble's into his mouth and peered out the window, anxious for his first look at the majestic, old castle.

"But you can't, everyone wants to cry about it. Meddlesome mudbloods and their stupid laws." She tucked the little book into her robe and smiled back at Draco.

"I wonder how many mudbloods we'll see at Hogwarts. Father so wishes to have them locked out, but that old goat Dumbledore won't allow it. Someone needs to show the old fool his place, if you ask me." He sneered and settled back into his seat beside her.

"Oi, Malfoy, guess what happened!" The large, lumbering 11 year old jerked the door open to allow himself and his equally large, ugly friend inside the compartment.

"What, Crabbe? This isn't one of your stupid tales, is it?"

"No, he's not putting you on. This little mudblood is going all about the train, whining about some toad. Bushy hair, all teeth. Probably the ugliest mudblood I've ever seen." Gregory Goyle plopped down beside Vincent Crabbe, and proceeded to help himself to Draco's large stash of sweets.

"Well, she'd better not try that whiny mudblood spiel with me. I'll put her in her place - on the ground." Pansy smiled at Draco, waiting for his approval.

"That's the spirit, Pans. We don't take rubbish off of mudbloods or their blood traitor friends." Draco clapped her on the back and tossed her a pasty. "Eat up, you've practically withered away over the summer."

Pansy gave him another grateful smile, then took a large bite out of the pumpkin pasty. At home, she never felt quite safe, between her father's bad temper and her mother's drunken rages. But here, with these boys, Pansy was truly someone special - the little princess of Slytherin house.

Pansy sighed and dropped her quill. Things hadn't changed much, though at the wise age of 16, Pansy felt that she was now soon to be the queen of Slytherin house at Hogwarts, with Draco by her side as king. She looked around her spacious bedroom, at the souvenirs and trinkets of her last five years at Hogwarts. If it weren't for that damnable Harry Potter and his stupid friends, the mudblood Granger and the insipid, blood traitor Weasley, she could have added green and silver Cup Winner banners, more awards from the esteemed Dolores Umbridge, and things of which Pansy could only dream.

But no. Those meddlesome three, the Golden Trio, would ruin everything for her and her friends. She let out a sardonic laugh - everything they hoped for, all their dreams had been dashed by those idiot Gryffindors. If only she could catch them alone -

Her thoughts were interrupted by the scratching of a claw on her window. She slipped from her bed and unlocked the window, allowing the majestic falcon entrance. She pulled the letter from his beak and dropped a handful of nibbles as payment in front of the bird. As he gobbled through the treat, she ripped open the envelope, hoping for good news from her sweetheart. Her face fell at the meticulous handwriting; it was Draco's, indeed, but the message was almost unbelievable.

Pansy,

I hope that you won't be angry with me, but I must tell you the truth. I may never see you again. Even if the DE have taken control of H, I cannot promise that I will be safe within the walls. I want you to know that I'll always value your friendship, camaraderie, and everything you have done for me, but I must end our betrothal. I cannot hold you to a promise made so long ago. So much has changed that I daresay we won't know each other from strangers when we next meet. I hope this letter finds you well, and wish you all the best in your life.

Truly,

Draco

Pansy sat, mouth agape, trembling on her bedside until her mother's voice jerked her out of her reverie.

"Pansy, get down here! Now!" The screeching tone of her mother's voice had always grated on her nerves, but never had it felt so futile to fight against the woman as it did after reading the short, world-stopping note from her first, only, and true love.

She dragged her feet down the staircase, slowly cajoling herself to replace her sorrowful frown with the cold, cruel look her mother had taught her from the moment she was born. By the time she was in front of the large, heartless woman, her face and countenance were stripped of all emotion but self-centered entitlement.

"What do you want, Mother? Must you howl so? You sound like a crippled, old carrier owl." She sat down stiffly in the chair to her mother's left, by her weaker hand.

"Don't talk to me that way, you ungrateful little cow. Your father will be home soon. He carries news of the fight."

"This was so groundbreaking that you had to call me down from my nap?" The girl sneered and rolled her eyes at the bloated, perspiring older woman.

"He has news of the Malfoys. I thought surely you would like to hear it." She took a long draft of her whiskey and let out a wet belch.

"You are so repulsive, sometimes I can't believe you're my mother at all." The girl stood. "And in fact, I do not care to hear news of any Malfoy at all. I wipe my hands of them." She turned to leave, but was wrenched back by her mother's pincer grip.

"What is this? Yesterday, you would have jumped for news of Draco. What has happened?" The woman didn't show much concern as she did annoyance, and made no attempt to hide it: as usual.

"He is a callous, cruel, insensitive, loathsome little wanker. That's what. I wish I had never had the displeasure of meeting him in the first place, and hope sincerely that I should never be forced to see him again." Pansy jerked her arm from her mother's grasp, noting with disgust the little red welts coming up on her thin arm as she marched with her head held high back up the stairs and away from the woman.

Pansy woke in the morning on a damp pillow with tears still on her cheeks. She wiped her face roughly and tossed off the rough blanket, making her way across the small room to her adjoining bathroom. Eyes closed in a yawn, she didn't notice until she slammed into the wall that the bathroom door was not where it usually was. Rubbing her sore nose, she squinted around the small, foreign bedroom with growing concern. All her green and silver decorations had been traded for red and gold, and books lined the walls, on bookshelves, on the small student desk by the window, in the closet. She let out a bloodcurdling scream, and fainted away on the shaggy carpeting.

She came to several minutes later at the feeling of a cool, wet cloth being placed on her feverish forehead. "What happened?"

"I heard you scream, darling, and when I got her, you were fainted dead away on the carpet. Are you ill?"

Pansy squinted at the woman. She didn't know her, perse, but she was oddly familiar. She took in the woman's mousy brown curls, her muggle clothes, and risked another quick glance around the room. She spied more red and gold on the opposite wall, and fought back a wave of nausea. "Where am I? Who are you?"

The woman paused. "You're at home, dear. If you are ill, dear, I can call Dr. Chapman." The woman's cool hand felt good on her cheek, but Pansy couldn't help but be repulsed. This was a muggle, and not just any muggle. This was Hermione Granger's mother. This was Hermione Granger's bedroom.

"What am I doing here? Where are my parents? How did I get here?" Her voice was taking on a helpless, pitiful tone that sounded foreign to her ears. She raised up to get a better look at her surroundings, but the woman pushed her back down gently.

"You need to rest. I'm calling Dr. Chapman." The woman reached for a strange looking object on the bedside table and pushed a long series of buttons, then held the thing up to her ear. As she began to talk into the thing, Pansy took the opportunity to study what was around her. Surely, this was a sick joke. Or a dream. She began to feel hopeful, and thought maybe Draco's letter had also been fiction, that she was still betrothed to the boy she had spent so much of her life with in happiness.

"Dr. Chapman will be here shortly, dear. You do look pale. Have you been trying drugs, Hermione?"

Pansy's thoughts stopped dead. The name bounced around inside her skull, but her mind would not admit the possibility. She was convinced this was all a sick joke, a prank, a little laugh put on by the boys. She let out a hesitant, humorless laugh. "Okay, you got me."

"What do you mean? Hermione, you don't sound yourself today." The woman's face was filled with true, motherly concern.

Pansy's throat felt like it was closing, shutting off vital air to her lungs. She managed to cough out a weak response and lie back as the woman instructed. She closed her eyes tightly, willing herself to wake up from this sick nightmare.

"I'm calling your father. You look positively ill. And all this talk..." The woman shook her head and took the strangle muggle contraption out into the hall, closing the door firmly behind her.

Pansy pushed back the rough blanket and stood, tiptoeing her way to a decorative mirror on the mostly unblemished wall space. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes beheld the girl in the mirror - thick, bushy hair, a smattering of freckles across the delicate nose and slightly chubby cheeks, and the ugliest pair of pyjamas Pansy had ever seen in her life. She fainted away on the spot, her eyes rolling back into her head, letting out a squeaky sigh as her limp, curvaceous body hit the floor with a thud.