Disclaimer: Don't own it.
A/N: I haven't posted anything here in three years, and this is what I come up with when I return. Well, read and review anyway, please.
(childhood)
The first time Pansy sees him is at her sixth birthday party, and her normally severe mum who is now strangely overexcited introduces a particularly blond family to her.
"Pansy darling," she croons, "these are the Malfoys, and their son, Draco."
Too young to catch her mother's slight emphasis on the word son,Pansy sweeps her dress back in the curtsy her mother had been drilling into her head all week. "Pleased to meet you," she says, proud that her voice is not squeaky.
"Pleasure," Draco returns imperiously (or as imperiously a seven-year-old boy can be).
Tittering at the children, Mrs. Parkinson turns away and Pansy already tunes her out while in search of hidden gift behind the backs of the Malfoys. When her efforts turn up fruitless, Pansy is unable to conceal her pout, and Mum notices, quickly masking the look of alarm on her face.
"My sweet, why don't you entertain young Malfoy while I have a small chat with his parents? You can show him all the gifts you've received so far." At that, she nudges Pansy and Draco off to the side and turns back to his well-to-do parents, who have perfect postures and perfect hair.
She shrugs and fixes her attention on young Malfoy, who looks positively bored. He raises his hand to tug at the stiff collar constricting his neck, but stops, thinking better of it than to dirty his dress robe and face mother. "Do you want to see my presents?" Pansy offers.
He wrinkles his nose snobbishly, a habit he has only just picked up. "All right."
She leads him through a crowd of champagne glasses, mingling accents, and stinging perfume to a long table, upon which a good number of gifts have been placed and are still growing. Even the table is dressed in sumptuous fabrics, and the presents look twice as luxurious. Pansy had already opened a few boxes, expressing delight when uncovering dolls and scowling when unwrapping frilly, cuffed robes from their immaculate packaging.
"Do you want to help me open some?" she asks.
He pauses from picking at his fingers to look up, takes in the small hill, and sniffs. "I've gotten more than this."
Pansy frowns, her own nose wrinkling. "Well, my parents are richer than yours."
He looks at her, then briefly glances over at a house elf pouring his parents glasses of champagne while Mrs. Parkinson smiles and chatters all the while. Draco looks back at Pansy and smirks. "No they're not."