Chapter Four

She knew Hermione panicked, Ginny had to have known she was lying. Lies. Liar. Lying.

It had been a day and a half since she lied to her friend.

Liar.

Ginny had seemed to have bought the obvious lie.

Liar.

Even still, even if she believed it true the freckled witch gave Hermione a watchful eye. Something had been different in her. Maybe it was the fact when the Malfoy name was scrutinized in leu of conversation she went quiet, or when was asked a direct question about it had given a hasty and dismissive answer. Perhaps it was because when Ron had mentioned his relief that he wasn't the only one in the Golden Trio not "getting any" it had made her turn a particular shade of crimson.

Could I be more bloody obvious!? she scolded herself. Thankfully my best friends are assuming enough to not even question why my face is suddenly on fire…..

Liar liar pants on fire.

Ugh. She had to stop this. She was just torturing herself- like she hadn't been through enough already! She wondered, no, hoped he was in as much agony about this as she was… Because she was. Not only had she- what she now realized was a fact and not some stupid lie Liar to embarrass her- slept with Malfoy, she had remembered enjoying it. Her stomach churned. What a thought. Merlin.

School was starting up again soon. Headmaster McGonagall made it mandatory for all those who didn't complete their N.E.W.T.S. last spring to come back and take their final year over- which was pretty much the whole 7th year class of last year. Things like exams tend to take a backseat when Death Eaters are throwing Unforgivables at you… And, for as much as the brainy witch enjoyed her magical studies, she had hoped beyond a shadow of a doubt to move past the convoluted, self centered opinions of her fellow peers. She had had more than her fill of people coming up to her asking her about the Final Battle. Had she been scared? Was it difficult? What was it like standing next the Harry "The Chosen One" Potter in those last moments? Was Ron Weasley a good kisser? Rita Skeeter could go to hell and take her unintelligent vile gossip column with her. "Me, Myself and I" is only a third right.

It should be titled "Me Me Me" as far as anyone with half a brain is concerned…. She sneered.

She despised that woman. Oh how she would relish in the scandal that had happened between the Slytherin and Gryffindor. The scandal she would never know about. Ever. She fiddled. Pulled at the bushy hair until she found a strand- the perfect strand to strangle her index finger with. The incessant twirling of her hair had become more than a habit these past few days. She couldn't help it. It was relieving. The tighter she twisted the hair on her finger the further down she pushed the truth. And as the days before the start of term dwindled away, so too had the feeling in the fingertips of her left hand.

She was positively on edge, What in Merlins Beard am I going to do when I have to be in the same class as him?! What about when he sees me in the Great Hall? Or around the castle?

It wasn't about what had happened between them. She had come to grips with reality. In no way did that make it alright and in absolutely no possible way did it make it okay to tell Ron, Harry or Ginny just yet….

Maybe in a few years, when we can look back on it and laugh…

No, the real cause of her anxiety was how he was going to use the situation for his sticky benefit. To blackmail her. To terrorize her in general. He was obviously unpredictable but he was still a Slytherin and still a Malfoy. There was only a few variables of unpredictability and it all stemmed at somehow making her miserable. She was already furious with him about it. If their past 7 years of schooling had foreshadowed anything as to what the next term would bring, she was in for a world of trouble… and the tough thing about keeping secrets is that you have to face that trouble alone, with your head held high and your nerves shaken to the core, and no one must ever see how afraid she really was.

….

Draco was surrounded by everyone in the world that gave a damn about him (aside from his father, but he would have been had he had the choice) and also everyone who pretended to give a damn about his for their own selfish social climber needs, and he was distracted. It was their annual back-to-school soiree at the Malfoy Manor and it was just like it was every other year: Positively dull. He hated parties. The facade he had to put on was exhausting. Everyone made idle chit chat with Draco's mother, Narcissa, about the fucking rugs. Or the tapestry. Or how shopping in Milan this year had just been "So disappointing from last years fall lines. Perhaps Milan just isn't the place for decent fashion theses days. I've heard good things about Beijing…" He rubbed his temples. 4 times clockwise and 6 times anti clockwise. 8 times clockwise, 12 times anti clockwise. Ugh. Even his anger management techniques had dipped into an already depleted energy reserve.

Pansy Parkinson noticed almost immediately. She always kept an eye on Draco when he was in the same room as her. They were dating again. Probably…. He hadn't been sure- and the will to find out was so far exhausted that he just let her do everything. She very much loved him. More than he could ever and will ever love her. But her companionship was nice and she had a body that… He stopped himself. He'll show her just how much he loved her body later, in the same fashion that he expressed moments before the first guest arrived… Right where that very guest was seated in the parlor….

Pansy slyly linked her arm with his and spoke to Narcissa, "Excuse me, Narcissa, may I borrow Draco for a moment?" She flashed a genuine smile at his mother, which was returned with the same sincerity and a nod, "Of course Pansy. But please, don't keep him away for too long- I can only handle guest greeting by myself for so long without snapping and hexing everyone!" The guest next to the blonde haired socialite chuckled uncomfortably. Was she joking? Of course it was a joke. It had been a long standing one to keep not only Lucious, but now Draco as well, sane and attentive at gatherings. She winked at Draco and he felt better. Not great. But better. He gave his mother a doting kiss on the cheek and promised to be back in a couple of moments. Any Gryffindor who would've walked in on this situation would be flabbergasted as to how kind and sensitive he was to his mother, but the explanation was simple: He loved her. Very much. She was probably the most important person in his life and there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. It was really too bad that most of the time those things ended up being her plus one at formal tea parties with snooty witches and shopping- more like bag holding- at expensive boutiques and high end fashion line premieres.

When his mind snapped back to reality they were out on his back porch. He didn't remember walking through the large kitchen- complete with the latest Magic Configured Muggle Technology, like a refrigerator, coffee maker, espresso maker, french press (he fucking loved coffee)- through the exaggeratedly large double doors and out to the beautiful stone railed patio overlooking the rest of the extensive Malfoy grounds. There was a little of everything: A small forrest at the edge of the property, a small lake (or a big pond) complete with bridges that connected to walkways and a garden, not to mention ample amount of green space to play croquette, and of course Quidditch, as you continued towards the mansion.

Pansy slinked her arm across his stomach and rested it on his collarbone. He hadn't realized he had his arm around her. She nestled her head into his chest and he closed his eyes, counted back from 21 and proceeded to lay his head on her bushy hair.

Wait. What?!

Pansy had always had a chin length stick straight black bob. Silky smooth to the touch and looked even more so. Why the hell was…

No. Merlin, no… Not this… Not now…. Fuck!

He got re-stressed. He pulled out a metal case from his breast pocket, pulled out a fag and lit it with the tip of his wand.

"I thought you quit…" Pansy judged. She hated that he smoked.

"I did…. Then I changed my mind," he answered dismissively. "… Don't tell Mother…" he had damn near pleaded the last part. She would be so disappointed if she knew. She would look at him with those eyes. Every little thing that disappointed or upset her lately gave her those eyes; the ones that had kept up a charade of strength and happiness for so long for so many people…. They were growing tired, faltering, looking for any excuse to let the repressed tears shed completely- and break his fucking heart.

He took 4 long drags and held the fifth in, said a silent transfiguration spell, and it hit the ground as a pebble before he was done exhaling the stress-relieving cloud from his tar filled lungs.

Better not smoke the whole thing in front of Pansy…. Even if it's better anger management than those stupid fucking sessions.

He had been in counseling for months. Every Monday and Thursday for the past 20 Mondays and 19 Thursdays. Tomorrow was his last before school. It was mandatory as a part of his "sentence" and if he did not comply- even though he had been tried as a minor- he would wind up in the same place as his father as a result of his foolish aid to the deceased Dark Lord.

Good fucking riddance he thought as he put his hand on the small of Pansy's back, did a silent Scent Concealing Charm, and walked back through those huge double doors and into the fatuous gathering of fake laughs and a whole lot of scotch for him.

A/N: Hi hi again. So, I have spent a lot of time thinking about this storyline- perhaps more than I should- and have come up with a few ideas for the next... 6 or 7 chapters or so. That makes me happy. There is some direction! Hooray! Thank you to those who have followed, favorited and reviewed my story thus far. It means more to me than I could ever possibly express and if I could figure out this website well enough to PM you all I would. And will, damn it. Please keep reviewing and if you truly are liking it- recommend to friends? I would cyber-love you forever. But not in the gross way. I will keep you updated if you keep me updated.

Post Script,

Also there will be a lot more dialogue to come. So far the mental status of the two lovebirds is far too important to worry with talking. They are more troubled and pensive then they even know.

Keep reading!

hugs and pirate kisses,

AtE