Pansy was furious.
Apparently, that was very obvious to everyone around her, since no one dared get close to her as she walked down the corridor. They did not want to get squashed against a wall, sensible as they were.
They needn't have worried - Pansy had other priorities than terrorising fifth graders (preferably Gryffindors). She'd settle for that later, but right now, she couldn't have cared less if all the annoying children shouted stupid remarks as to how she was a fat and ugly cow - a popular dare among the newest students, or so she had heard - or not. It was not yet time to let off steam via force.
If people would have looked her in the eye and actually watched her, they still would have missed an important aspect. They would have recognised her foul mood, as she was seething and out for blood (metaphorical or not). Beneath all the brutal energy and glares, however, Pansy was quivering with fear. Subtle enough for the casual observer, yet bubbling below the surface, threatening to spill over and pull the rug out from under her feet.
She didn't need to hear snippets of hateful gossip travelling around Hogwarts to know no one had volunteered to deliver the message to her. In retrospect, her calm and cold determination probably traumatized Iris Mersinn more than any hissy fit could ever have. Pansy had stormed off, not taking notice of the one suicidal enough to confirm her worries staring after her as if she had suddenly grown a third eye.
Draco Malfoy had been severely wounded, courtesy of Harry Potter.
He's going down!
She briskly made her way towards the Hospital Wing, brushing past a flustered Madam Pomfrey carrying a tray with various bottles. Pansy was sure she saw pumpkin juice among them, but the thought had left her head quicker than it had come as soon as she entered the familiar hall filled with hospital beds. Only one of them was occupied.
She found herself face to face with Draco and the effect was immediate.
Relief, satisfaction, frustration, joy. A familiar mixture of emotions when it came to him.
"Hey.", she whispered, not entirely certain if he was asleep or simply pretending to get rid of Madam Pomfrey and her disgusting potions.
He opened one eye lazily and struggled to sit up. Pansy was by his side at once and let him grip her arm for support. It was the first time she had a close look at his face and the opportunity to assess his injuries without stealing glances and staring.
His blue eyes had a dazed expression - shock or pain killers? What had Madam Pomfrey had to do to keep him alive?
Draco's skin was a deathly shade of white, but that was not unusual, Pansy reminded herself. Over time, she repeated over and over in her head, her mantra would become the truth. At least there were no visible scars marring his face.
"What happened?", she started again. Her voice was low and she seated herself on the edge of the bed, careful not to rip open any bandages.
He sighed in a way not unknown to the Slytherin girl. She remembered his behavior when he had been injured by Buckbeak in third grade - now he seemed to be in the same state of mind, albeit not faking any pain. Be it physical or psychological.
The only thing that appeared to be unchanged was Pansy's admiration for him. She hang on his every word.
"What do you think? Potter found me alone and while I was defending myself he decided to rip open my chest and let me bleed to death!"
"Bet he thought everything would turn out okay as soon as he said sorry?", Pansy remarked sarcastically.
A flash of light briefly lit up his eyes, discarding the dazed sense of disorientation. "Yeah, that's it. You should have seen his face when Snape ran in and saw him just standing there. I wasn't conscious through all of their conversation, but from what I gather he's going to make Potter's life hell for the next year at the least."
The grin spreading over Pansy's face mirrored his own.
"We're going to make Potter's life hell.", she murmured. As she bent her head, her dark hair partly obscuring her face, she was unaware of Draco regarding her with something alien to others of his house: high esteem.
"I like your version better." He was very pleased with her correction.
She held up her head to look at him again and smiled bitterly. "Sure you do. It should be no problem to gather people who want to see Potter dead and make sure he pays."
Draco rolled his eyes. He was already able to envision witches and wizards taking his side in the conflict left and right. Who was there who didn't want to wipe that arrogant expression off Potter's face just once? "No more of a problem than finding a red-haired Weasley." He grimaced like he had just been force-fed Polyjuice Potion at the mention of the family he hated almost as much as the Chosen One.
Pansy nodded. "It should be simple, really." A ghost of a smile reached her face.
She pulled up his white covers to have a task to occupy herself with when Draco reached for her hand. His fingers barely brushed her knuckles, a touch as light as a feather, and still it was enough to make her freeze in surprise.
"Good plan, Parkinson." He would have rather drunk the Draught of Living Death than saying anything of the sorts in public, but at the moment, things were different. He could already feel his strength coming back as his anger reappeared, thanks to his visitor. He had something to be grateful for and he was not sure if he liked that.
"I concur." Pansy's voice echoed in the silent hall. At first, Draco thought she was referring to her own - admittedly wicked - plan, which would have made her about as arrogant as Potter had she not been his ally. Then he realized that he had been unconsciously cursing his arch nemesis under his breath.
"You better.", he commented dryly, but his eyes were sparkling with appreciation at her kindred spirit.
Pansy flashed a grin at him and squeezed his hand for a second before letting go again and standing up. She hesitated halfway to the Hospital Wing's doors. She looked back and found Draco levelly meeting her gaze.
Very slowly, she walked back in the direction she had come from previously.
Both remained silent while Pansy laid down next to him on the bed. The cold metal was partially boring into her side or back and making her shiver with cold. The sheets were uncomfortable and gave off an overwhelming smell of dittany.
She grinned.
She held up her left hand to brush through his hair and let her fingertips brush Draco's. He did not look at her and did not need to. Pansy was content watching the sun rays illuminating his figure and hair, almost but not quite blinding her.
"I promise we'll get back at him.", she breathed.
He laughed curtly, entwining their hands for a moment before turning around to face her again and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Yes, Potter is definitely going down."
Madam Pomfrey, coming in half an hour later with her hands full of herbs, couldn't help but smile at the sight of the two sleeping Slytherins.
So peaceful, so innocent.