Someone was stroking my forehead. And humming. God that feels amazing… Wait a moment, I know that tune…I've heard it before, my mum-

"Mum?"

My rather serious question was answered with a high, girlish giggle. Clearly, whoever was molesting me so sweetly, was not my mother. I opened my eyes then, adjusting to the morning light. My eyes focused on the ceiling. The white ceiling. What the hell? Since when did I get a new ceiling? And that, my annoying pustules of an audience, was when I remembered. Everything.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

"Blaise? Is everything alright?" asked my molester.

"No, clearly, everything is NOT alright!", I exclaimed. And then I sat up rather suddenly, for I'd finally figured out who my molester was. Pansy.

"Pans?"

"No, Blaise. I'm your Auntie Beatrice thrice removed, you know, the one with the dragon scales on her arse… Of course, it's me! And stop moping already! Draco isn't too terribly upset… But he did say he was going to hex your important bits off… So keep your eyes open, I suppose. And what the hell were you thinking anyway? Why'd you attack him like that? I don't recall mauling my boyfriend as part of the plan!"

"UGH!" I fell back on the bed, exhausted by her incessant chatter. "First of all, Pans, it was my Auntie Flora who had dragon scales in her arse. Second of all, did Draco mention giving my bits back after he had hexed them off? Or was it a permanent sort of thing? Third of all, I don't know what I was possibly thinking when I smacked his face in… Maybe I was thinking about the time in first-year when he put Everlasting Itching powder in pajamas and I almost scratched myself to femalehood. Or perhaps I remembered the time he told me that all one had to do to get to Hogsmeade was to run backwards into the Forbidden Forest, roll in the dirt for seven minutes, pound one's chest, and shout "Centaurs Suck!" Or maybe JUST MAYBE I happened to recall the jolly good time I had listening to that Howler from my mum, stating, "HOW COULD YOU HAVE GOTTEN PANSY PREGNANT?! AND HOW ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH COULD YOU HAVE THROWN THE BABY INTO THE WHOMPING BLOODY WILLOW?!"

Pansy had started to break out in peals of laughter, but I was not to be trifled with, so I continued on with my little diatribe.

"FOURTH OF ALL, Draco Malfoy is ANYTHING but your bloody BOYFRIEND!"

And that statement shut her up quite effectively. She looked at me then, those enormous violet eyes widening even more. She looked at the floor and gave me a small, timid smile.

"Yes, you're right. He isn't my boyfriend. But we're working on that, so all's well."

I shook my head, not understanding. "Pans, why do you keep doing this? He's not worth it! Really, I know he's bloody gorgeous and all that rubbish, but he's an arse too."

She chuckled at my straightforward analysis of her "boyfriend" and smoothed out the invisible wrinkles on her pleated skirt.

"I know, Blaise. I know better than anyone that he's a complete moron. But when he looks at me-" She took a deep breath here and continued on. "…but when he looks at me, I feel beautiful. I feel wanted. I feel like I belong somewhere…I don't know how to explain it…"

"But, Pans, I think you're beautiful. The whole WORLD thinks you're beautiful. And you belong with us, with your friends. You don't have to do this…"

But no matter what I said, she wouldn't give up on him.

"I know, I know. This is the last time, I promise." She smiled sweetly at me, and I wished and wished and WISHED she didn't have such a reputation. For being Draco's whore, for being Nott's whore, for being everyone's whore… But what's done is done, right?

She pulled off my blankets then, all calmness and efficiency. "Come on, Blaise. It's Saturday, tomorrow's the formal, and I need to pick up some things."

I groaned again and she laughed. "Stop being such a BABY, Blaise. I just need to check if the tailor made the right adjustments to my dress and to find you a matching pocket square."

"A pocket square? A POCKET SQUARE?! I'M NOT BLOODY ANCIENT, PANS! I DON'T WANT A BLOODY POCKET SQUARE!"

"It's like a handkerchief."

"Oh. Okay. Why didn't you just say so?"

"Oh, GOD. Just get dressed! I'll meet you outside in, say… twenty minutes?"

"Fine, fine."

She kissed me on the cheek then, tousled my hair, and walked out of the infirmary.

What have I gotten myself into?


After convincing Madam Pomfrey that I was indeed in perfect condition, I ran to my quarters, knowing that Pansy would be in very unpleasant mood if I were late. (By "unpleasant", I mean that her disposition would closely resemble that of a Blast-Ended Skrewt whose arse has just been poked with a fire prod one time too many… It's times like this that I must congratulate myself upon mastering the art of "making spot-on, though rather painfully graphic analogies"). And just as I uttered the password to open the portrait hole, Hermione Granger stepped out (And this, my lovely, lovely listeners of a lower-being intelligence, is the definition of AWKWARD.)

She looked alright, much better than last night to say the least. No more tears, thank the lord.

"Err…Look, Granger. I'm really sorry about last night. I don't know what I was doing… Alleviation potions…mess with your mind, you know?" God. I'm a blithering idiot.

"No, Zabini. I'm sorry. I never should have done that, it wasn't like me at all… Can we just forget about what happened? Clearly, neither of us were ourselves…"

YES! SALVATION! "Sure, sure. I suppose I should tell you -ah- the truth anyway, though. I feel sort of guilty for not telling you sooner…"

"Yeah, that's fine. Can it wait until this afternoon though? I'm meeting Harry and Ron at, well… now."

"Of course. That's fine. I need to find Pansy too. Alright, I'll see you later then?"

"Okay, bye!"

And she swiftly walked away, scarf, mittens, and hat in tow. Well, I must say that the entire conversation was oddly… civil. I'm glad we both rose above such a bloody catastrophe. (Can't imagine you lot having the grace, intelligence, or tact of managing that!)

Anyhow, I entered my room only to see a vivid green flask floating right in the center of my bed. Malfoy's wit. As soon as I had swiped it away, I had sent it to my quarters. And here it was. I don't really know what I was feeling then, gazing at the tiny glass bottle. Pride? Guilt? Fear? What happens now? What the hell am I going to do with his bloody wit?

I left it there then and headed into the showers, hoping the hot water would help me reach an answer. Unfortunately, the hot water was fucking USELESS. Whatever. If the situation with Malfoy does spiral down, I'll just use his wit as a bargaining chip. Your wit in exchange for my manly parts. Sounds quite reasonable to me.

I donned some fresh clothes and headed out, stomach growling for food. Knowing that I was running too late to pass by the kitchens or the dining hall, I just walked on to the front gates. And, like every other time before, Pansy was already there, waiting by the carriages. She looked perfect. She had placed an ice blue beret over her short black hair, making her impossibly violet eyes seem even clearer. Her matching blue scarf was twisted neatly around her neck and laid simply across her elegant black coat. This girl knew how to dress.

"Hey, Pans." She smiled at me warmly and pushed me into the carriage.

"Come on! Get in, get in! I have a surprise for you!"

I was just about to step into the carriage, but I turned back to face her. "A surprise? What kind of surprise? Is it the kind of surprise you gave me for my birthday last year? A bewitched doll that thought I was its "Poppa"? Because that, was a BAD surprise. A bad, bad, very bad surprise. I can still see its disturbingly green eyes staring at me all night… Reminds me of Potter. Ugh!" I shuddered then.

She broke into giggles and said, "No, no! God, Blaise. That was just a joke! And the surprise I have for you is a good one. I promise."

My stomach grumbled loudly. "Yeah, it better be bloody stupendous, Pans."

She sat down across from me and pulled out a basket from underneath her seat.

"Go on. Take your time opening up my "surprise". I'll just sit here quietly whilst my stomach devours itself."

She glared at me for a second and then threw open the basket. And it was like Christmas morning. Except in a box. Inside my little surprise, or rather big surprise, were pastries, pies, sandwiches, eggs, waffles, bacon, sausages, pumpkin juice, orange juice, fruit slices. Anything and EVERYTHING related to breakfast. I looked up at her then, the shock evident on my face.

"So what do you think, Blaise? Good or bad surprise?" Her voice was filled with mischief.

"Pansy…You just made me fall in love with you." And to be quite honest, I was being a hundred percent serious when I said that. The age-old adage that 'food is the way to a man's heart' is true a trillion times over. So. Fucking. True.

She blushed lightly and laughed. "All right, Zabini. Just shut up and eat. I don't want to hear you complaining once we get there."

And for the first time in a long time, I listened to her.

By the time we got to Hogsmeade, I felt as though I had inhaled a whale. No. A pair of whales. Pansy dragged me out of the carriage, laughing when I almost fell on my arse, onto the cold, wet snow.

"Come on, come on! I want to get my things before the whole world shows up!"

And I let her push and pull me to a nice-looking boutique, astutely named "Emberlyn's Elegant Fashions". As Pansy opened the door, a soft tinkling of bells sounded, and we were greeted by a voluptuous, dark-haired woman whom I assumed to be the aforementioned Emberlyn.

"Hello, may I help you with something?"

"Yes, please. I'm here to pick up a gown I had ordered three weeks ago… I just want to make sure it fits properly."

"Yes, of course. Come this way please, just give me your name, and I'll pull out your dress for you."

Whilst Pansy was getting her dress and all of that womanly stuff, I started to walk around the store. It was a pentagonal room, each side held a rack overflowing with short and long dresses. And attached to this room was a hallway which led to the dressing rooms, I presume. I walked towards the dress racks, vaguely interested in how much these garments cost. A dark pink coloured dress caught my eye. I reached out to touch it and was shocked to see how thin the actual fabric was. Whoever bought this dress would literally be wearing nothing. I looked at the price tag several times, wondering if we had recently adopted a new numbering system. There was no way that this excuse for a dress was worth three hundred bloody galleons. No bloody way. And so, I moved on to another dress, hoping the price tag on the latter was an error of some sorts. Now this dress was rather conservative. Nice, black, made out of velvet. It seemed to be a very simple, elegant little number. Until I turned it around and realized that the dress had no bloody BACK! Just a mess of thin straps that was so ineffectual. Honestly! What was this store selling? Dresses for harlots, strumpets, tarts, and whores?! I looked at the price tag on this dress and almost had a conniption. This ... rag…was priced at SIX HUNDRED FORTY-SEVEN BLOODY GALLEONS! I stormed through the hallway, shouting out for Pansy. I heard her talking to that foul Emberlyn lady and I tore open the hangings to the dressing room. And my jaw dropped to the floor. And quite possibly rolled away.

My words died in my throat and sank lifelessly to the pit of my stomach. She looked… I don't think a million words could aptly describe to you how Pansy looked at that moment. Her dress was a silver color. It was sort of Grecian for it had a single thick, beaded shoulder strap. The dress was form-fitting, curving around her breasts. A thick band of clear stones wound across under her chest and from this band dropped a mixture of long ribbons of gauze and tulle. These strips of cloth glittered in the light, dusted with little crystals, all the way to the floor.

"Blaise? What happened?"

"Oh. My. I. Oh. I… Wow." Oh my LORD! I AM a blithering idiot!

I swallowed deeply and continued. "Pansy, you look… like an angel." And at that moment, she did. A dark-haired angel.

She giggled then. "That's the point, Blaise. Do you think Draco will like it?", she asked, anxiousness setting in her voice.

I cleared my throat again, but my voice still came out hoarse. "He's going to love it."

"Excellent! Alright, I'm just going to change out of this, and then we'll go find you a pocket square."

"Okay, sounds good." And I walked away, the image of Pansy as an angel burned into my eyes.

Shit. Shit. Shit.


While Pansy went to get her hair things, (No. I don't know what she meant by "hair things". Just things! For one's hair, I suppose. What do you care anyway? This story isn't about her bloody hair, which, by the way, smells incredible. Well, while we're on this topic, I must say that I've had my fair share of experiences with women. And, oddly enough, I judge a woman by her hair. If it's frizzy but clean-smelling, like Granger's, I can say that she's the "I'm busy and hard-working, but I still do care about my hygiene" type of girl. If it's curly, clean-smelling, AND well-styled, like Weaselette's, I can say that she's the "I too am busy, but I give a fuck about my appearance, so I won't go walking around with hair the size of a submarine" type of girl. If it's frizzy AND stinky, like Abbot's, I can say that she's the "My grandmum told me never to wash my hair because then I'd become stupid (disregarding the fact that I ALREADY have the intelligence of a half-eaten banana)" type of girl. And then, you have the worst of them all. If her hair is pretty, clean-smelling, and VERSATILE (and by versatile, I mean that this girl's hair is curly one day, straight the other, long one day, half gone the next day, etcetera), I can say that she's the "GLAMOUR CHARM GIRL! ( also known as the "I have hideous hair. But with a lovely thing called magic, I can transform the aforementioned pile of shit on top of my head into really pretty hair! Hurrah for me!). Would you like a prime example of a "glamour charm girl"? I knew you would. Drumroll please. Enter: LAVENDER BROWN! Oh. My. God. Sometimes I have nightmares about her. Well, her hair actually. And how it's dry, and twiggy, and ugly, and smells like Nott's feet after he hasn't taken them out of his trainers for a month. Or three. UGH! Shit, that was a long digression. Anyhow…what was I saying?).

So, whilst Pansy went shopping, I went gift-shopping. It's Pansy's birthday this Monday, and I really wanted to get her something meaningful. This whole ordeal with Draco had taken a toll on her and I wanted her to forget about him, just for one night at any rate. I was walking past Jannigan and Jockibell's Jewelry when something in the window caught my eye. It was a crystal sparrow. A sparrow… made out of crystal… And strangely enough, whoever created this work of art, had still managed to keep the softness. He had emulated the tufts of feathers perfectly, and if that crystal sparrow shifted right now and adjusted its wings, I would not have been surprised. It looked so fragile and so incredibly real. And before I knew it, I was opening the door to the store. A soft tinkling echoed in my ears (What is UP with the bloody tinkling bells?!).

"Can I help you?", asked a wizened, old man, who barely reached my shoulders. His purple suspenders and gold pocket-watch held me spellbound for a moment (What the fuck? Purple suspenders? And GOD, that pocket-watch is… glorious). He coughed a bit and I was forced to look away from the antique he had attached to his pants.

He asked again, "Ah, can I help you son?"

I looked at the display cases, wondering how I had wandered into the shop.

"I'm not sure… I'm looking for something to get my best friend… It's her birthday in a couple of days…"

His eyes lit up then (probably glad that I didn't turn out to be some psychotic, sadistic, homicidal "young fellow" who had a penchant for slicing things up).

"What's her name?"

"Her name?", I asked, not wanting to give personal information to this wrinkly old man.

"Yes, her name."

"Uh…Pansy?"

"No, no. Her real name."

What the fuck? I am NOT giving away her last name…Psychotic pedofile…Why the fuck did I come in here?! Fucking crystal sparrow fucked up my mind…

"Pansy is her real name…"

"Doesn't she have a middle name?"

"Oh. Yeah. It's…"

And for the life of me, I couldn't remember what her middle name was. Something with an L? Or was it an R?

"Sorry, sir… I can't remember…"

He sighed at me then and shook his head. "All right. We'll have to do without it, but it would have helped with the process."

What the FUCK? WHAT BLOODY PROCESS?! WHY DO OLD PEOPLE ALWAYS HAVE TO SPEAK IN BLOODY RIDDLES?!

"Excuse me sir, but what process are you speaking of?"

"The process of finding her a suitable gift, as you had requested", he answered with a tinge of haughtiness.

"Yes, but her name? How is that significant?"

He looked at me then and I could hear the wheels in his head turning and I'm pretty sure he was thinking, "Is this boy mentally retarded?" I'm sorry, but I really didn't understand what her name had to do with ANYTHING but for the sake of not being chopped up by a little man who eerily resembled a killer goblin I once read about in an article, I went on with the charade.

"Oh yes! Of course, of course. Continue on with the process…"

He kept on staring at me strangely and I knew that he knew that I had no idea what I was talking about.

"All right. What's her favorite color?"

Easy. "Light blue."

"Her favorite season?"

Ha. Even easier. "Winter."

"Her middle name?"

"Saethera." I froze, just as a maniacal grin spread across this psychopath's face.

"See! You did know it!"

"Yes… I suppose I did…" But I must admit my head was reeling with suspicion. Who was this freak?

"Alright. Now let me show you a couple of items you might be interested in."

He went behind the counter, knelt, and removed a small black case. He slowly opened the case and I was temporarily blinded when he pulled out a tiara from its protective pouch.

"This is the Saethera tiara." My head shot up at the name.

"It is comprised of one hundred and twenty-eight white crystals. The center piece is a circle Arctic sapphire. The intricate ivy pattern was established in the 1400s. It was crafted by a Scottish sorcerer in honor of his bride."

I picked up the tiara, surprised by its lightness. It really was exquisite… but when would she have the chance to wear a bloody tiara? I put it down gently.

"Not for her, is it?", said the old man, winking ever so slightly.

"No, it isn't…I need something smaller. Something that she can wear to some place OTHER than her OWN wedding."

He puffed up slightly at my words, but I didn't care. There's only so much I can take. After that point, I start sharing my nasty little comments.

He pulled out a ring then and I knew that no matter what, Pansy would die if she ever saw this ring.

"This is the Saethera ring-"

"What a creative name!" I remarked mockingly.

He huffed at me and then continued on. "The Saethera ring is comprised of two hundred mini-crystals and one princess-cut Arctic sapphire. The same sorcerer presented this ring to his future bride as a gift, a marriage offering."

"That's all lovely, but again, I need something that she can wear at ANYTIME. Please!"

"Young man! Do NOT raise your voice with me!"

Damn. The old fool had developed an attitude problem.

"I apologize, sir, but my carriage will be leaving soon, and I need a bloody gift for my bloody friend!"

His face paled at my simply scrumptious vocabulary, and he removed yet another crystal piece from the pouch.

"This here, is the Saethera pendant. It is a single Artic sapphire-drop. It comes with a back chain, a line of alternating sapphires and crystal. It also-"

"I'll take it."

He smiled smugly at me then, knowing full well that this was EXACTLY what I had been looking for all along.

"All right then, this piece is very valuable. It may seem exorbitant-"

I didn't care. It was beautiful. And it was Pansy.

"How much?"

He looked at me, straight in the eye, and I knew that no matter how ungodly expensive this necklace turned out to be, I'd be compelled to buy it.

"Three thousand, nine hundred, ninety-six galleons."

What the fuck? Why not just make it four thousand galleons? What's another four fucking galleons when you're spending that much money?

"Sold. Wrap it up in one of those nice little boxes and owl it to me. I need it, at latest tomorrow evening." I wrote my name on a card for him and ran towards the carriage.

If I've learned anything these past seven years, it's that one should not keep Pansy Saethera Parkinson waiting.

Author's Notes:

Hello! Thanks for reading my story, or rather what's completed of my story. I would love to hear what you all think about it, so please review. Chapter Five is in the works!