Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


Pansy stood in front of the mirror in the washroom on the first floor of St. Mungo's, fixing her lipstick and adjusting her dark hair in a way she hadn't done in a while. She missed dressing up from time to time. She could do without being paraded around for wealthy wizards to eat up and place their bid for her hand (read: fortune), but Pansy liked looking nice when it suited her. It gave her a refreshed sense of self-confidence that didn't come so easily when she was slumming around a bar in a patched dress and messy up-do. Painting on another coat of the lipstick she lifted from a shop nearby, Pansy gave herself on last look over before picking her cloak up and exiting the room.

The reception area was buzzing with Healers coming in for a shift and those leaving for a good night's sleep. She recognized a few of them from Hogwarts, but they spared her no mind as they hurried to her from Point A to Point B without wasting time. A pregnant woman's partner ran past her, calling out for a Healer to help his woman who was in the entrance, howling like a werewolf. Without thinking on it, Pansy placed her hand on her stomach and felt like her uterus was begging her not to put it through that ordeal.

She squared her shoulders and approached the receptionist with a swagger she had abandoned when she started working in Knockturn Alley.

"Pansy Parkinson for Mrs. Aster Parkinson," Pansy told the receptionist.

"Mrs. Parkinson is not allowed to have visitors until further notice."

"I'm not a visitor," Pansy hissed, "I'm her daughter."

"That's all very well, but the family holds no exceptions. It's the policy."

Pansy scowled at the receptionist, telling her that Mrs. Parkinson's mother was a board member and could have someone as replaceable as a receptionist out on their arse and blacklisted before a wand could be raised.

"Are you threatening me for doing my job?" the receptionist blinked up at Pansy.

"I'm threatening you for keeping me from my mother, you daft wanker."

"Pansy!" Theodore Nott snapped, his sudden appearance startling Pansy and the receptionist. "We talked about threatening the hospital staff last week." Pansy frowned at him. "It's all right, Max. She's Mrs. Parkinson's benefactor."

"And daughter," she reminded the receptionist. "Remember that when you're kept away from your family because of policy."

Nott held out a placating hand to prevent the receptionist from retorting and ushered Pansy away from making a scene.

"Why isn't my mother allowed to have visitors?" she asked Nott while he lead her through the corridors. "What have you quacks done to her?"

"You are in a ripe mood today," he noted.

"Stop being cute."

"I can't help it."

"Theodore."

"Your mother has been receiving a visitor every other day who has apparently been teaching her nonverbal curses. Two nights ago, we let an orderly go, because he said he could hear scorpions every time he entered your mother's room. We obviously couldn't let him continue working in this kind of environment when he started acting as if he belonged in it."

Pansy cut him off, "A man tells you he can hear scorpions in a scorpion-free environment, and you let him go into the sunset? Are you as barking mad as your patients?"

"I'm not in charge here."

"Crazies in charge of crazies. It's like a bloody republic."

"Anyway," Nott spoke over her, "her attempt to curse two Healers who came to see her seemingly backfired so that she and just one of the Healers pulled a few muscles from laughing too hard." Pansy looked at him incredulously. "I was rather amused, but we obviously cannot have patients practicing magic."

She hummed in acknowledgment but remained silent as she followed him up two flights of stairs to the wing her mother was being kept in. Draco liked Nott an awful lot more than she did. It wasn't that Theodore Nott was a terrible person, she didn't think. Objectively, he was a nice fellow who tried to maneuver living his life as the son of known Death Eater, and she respected his silence on his father's activities and his commitment to making a name for himself.

But he reminded her of a time in her life when she wasn't who she wanted to be. They had been intimate for a time in Seventh Year when Draco was checked out of reality, and she just wanted someone to tell her she looked pretty and was a fine shag. That time was short, though, but he was still a constant in her life while she tried figuring out why the prospect of being with him, or even Draco, was no longer an interest for her. Pansy had been coping with feeling different than how she had been raised to think and different than how she saw other girls in her year when they cuddled up next to their boyfriends at meals or held hands in the corridors. While she—someone who had always been looked at as Draco Malfoy's girlfriend and female counterpart—was agonizing over what it meant to admire the way Daphne Greengrass filled out a sweater or how Ginny bloody Weasley seemed more attractive to her each time she took some stand or another against the wankers running the school, Nott was always there to hear her rants or to let her sob into his robes.

He reminded her of a time when she thought terrible things about herself; and although she had come to accept herself, Nott still stirred those memories she preferred to leave in the past.

Regardless, he was back in her life, keeping another one of her secrets, and she knew she could trust him just as she had at Hogwarts. More importantly, Pansy trusted him with her mother, and if it meant pouring even more money into the institution and his transfer to it, she would keep working at the Wyvern until she bloody broke down.

Nott left her outside of her mother's room while he signed off on some paperwork which permitted her entrance. He returned a moment later and handed her a letter to bring back each time she visited, so reception wouldn't hassle her. He also passed over a ring which he kept with him at all times for her. Pansy pursed her lips and slipped the thing onto her ring finger and nodded for the attendant to open her mother's door.

Aster Parkinson was the picture of physical health when Pansy entered the room with Nott behind her. She had a black silk house robe tied on over her hospital uniform, and a pair of fine slippers adorned her feet. Her short dark hair was worn in a bob that Pansy had only seen her mother wear in old photos. Aster had no makeup on, probably the only St. Mungo's regulation she was complying with, but Pansy thought she looked just was regal without it as she did with it. Her mother wasn't the kindest of women, and she was nowhere near as loving as Narcissa Malfoy; but Aster was her mother, and Pansy loved her more than most.

"My darling," Aster whispered hoarsely, bringing a hand up to her heart.

"Mama," Pansy smiled warmly and quickly crossed the room to reach her.

Her mother rose to meet her and returned the hug Pansy initiated.

"You haven't visited in months, my love," she said, betraying the picture of health she presented. "I almost thought you forgot about me."

"Never, mama," Pansy said as Aster kissed her cheek.

"And how is my debonair son-in-law to be?"

"Draco is wonderful, as always," she chuckled, feeling her gut wrench. "He sends you his love and regrets that he couldn't come this time. Work keeps him busy, I'm sure you can imagine."

"Oh, most definitely."

"Are you feeling well, Mama?"

"Some days are better than others. Your sister visits me frequently, but Merlin, I wish she wouldn't. She's so insufferable. All she talks about is herself. But with you so busy being the future Matron of Malfoy Manor, I could never ask you to come daily. Although I would love it."

Pansy smiled at her mother as Nott said that they told Aster she would be permitted a two-day leave to see Pansy's wedding. They went through this each time, and it was one of the issues which convinced Pansy St. Mungo's was making Aster crazy. Her mother had been completely sound of mind when she entered the damned place, but four months in the lower level wings, Aster came out thinking the daughter she miscarried was alive and Pansy was on track to marry Draco Malfoy. Pansy fought tooth and nail to get her mother into a better part of the hospital and made a scene party after party until her grandmother paid off the administration to do so. Slowly, her grandmother's money wasn't coming into Aster's fund, though, so Pansy was doing what she could to maintain her mother's current station.

She also had Nott looking out for anything that could be causing her mother's altered state of mind or something his superiors weren't telling Pansy. According to him, nothing had turned up yet, and he claimed it was completely plausible for Aster to have snapped under the stress of being blamed for her husband's crimes and being forced into the lower levels of St. Mungo's where they kept the more dangerous of the hospitals mental patients.

Aster's condition wore on Pansy. She hated lying to her mother in the way she was. Even if it seemed to benefit her, it couldn't have been healthy to perpetuate the reality Aster was living in, could it? What if she started regaining her memory and saw that her only daughter had been lying to her? And for what? Pansy couldn't say how she would react. When she dwelled on it outside of St. Mungo's, she wondered if she could even bring herself to return and go through it all again.

"Theodore says you've been practicing nonverbal curses in your spare time."

"That's preposterous," Aster snorted. "Darling, I don't have a wand, I can't do nonverbal curses."

"Mama…"

"I'll give you some privacy," Nott said, knocking on the door for the attendant to let him out.

"We're not really in private," Aster whispered. She nodded to the mirror on the far side of the wall. "I can't see them, but those tricky bastards can see me. I always change under my robes. They don't need to see my finely bred parts."

She stayed with her mother for two hours until an orderly came in to collect Aster for mealtime. Pansy walked them to the point where she was authorized to and then remained there, waiting for her mother to leave her sight.

"I hate this part," Pansy told Nott when he came up next her. "Leaving her in the care of people I don't trust, who don't trust me. What will she be like the next time I see her? Can I even bring myself to come next time?"

"You'll come," Nott assured her. "You love her, and she remembers how much she loves you."

Pansy nodded and roughly wiped away the tears which had already started falling. Nott offered the Floo Network in the Healer's lounge, but Pansy turned it down. She would control her tears and walk out of the bloody building with her head held high.

"Draco wrote and said the two of you are coming for tea on Sunday?" Nott asked as they headed back the way they came.

"Yes, yes," Pansy grunted. "Your pestering has worn him down, and now I daresay he's looking forward to it."

"Does that bother you?"

"Everything bothers me, but tea with you is less bothersome than him working with Ginny bloody Weasley."

"Ah," Nott mumbled.

"And I'm assuming you know. Brilliant."

"I'm at the shop frequently."

She nodded and waved her had dismissively. "More so than that, I think he's hiding something."

"What could Draco possibly hide from you?"

"He could be shagging that bloody bint Hermione bloody Granger."

"And I could be shagging the Queen of England," Nott laughed.

"Well, as comforting as this conversation has been, I have to be off. Merlin knows Draco is probably defiling my bar right now. Take care, Teddy, and I'll see you on Sunday."

Draco was not shagging Hermione Granger on the bar, but he found his mind wandering back to her as he dealt with customers throughout the day. He didn't even understand why she took so strongly to Elven rights. It's not like she had much experience working with them or truly experiencing how they lived. If she was so concerned with the quality of life of those living among her, why didn't she look to the men and women in rags begging for a spare coin or two? Surely they needed her attention just as much as Elves who had housing and sustenance. Or were they not subjugated enough?

When the traffic in the tavern started slowing down after dinner time, he started glancing out the window periodically for Pansy's return. She thought she was being sneaky, telling him that she was just going to see her grandmother and get what she could from the Matron; but Draco knew Pansy was lying her arse off. He hated her for five years of his life, tolerated her for three, loved her for at least one, and considered her his equal throughout it all. He knew her better than he knew himself at times. Draco knew how close people like them were with the parent who showed them the most affection, and Pansy clung on to love like she would die without it. And for all Aster Parkinson's faults, she loved her daughter more than anything.

Well, Draco thought, as he rummaged through his drawer behind the bar for a book on medicine, he supposed Aster actually loved money more than anything. But the woman didn't have access to money. So he guessed Aster loved her daughter more than anything she had access to.

Pansy would never admit how much she loved her mother. Emotions ruined the indifferent persona Pansy tried to front.

Draco flipped the page of his book and wrote down a few notes about the reactions Healers have had in the past when giving House Elves muggle medicine. He supposed he could try grinding up one of the pills the Healers recommended and adding it to a potion or an ointment for Winky to use. If it worked, it was easy to make, and the ingredients were also easy to acquire. He could probably give Granger a crate of them to distribute to other Elves who were going through similar withdrawals or those who wanted to quit their addiction and potentially faced the same issues.

He was just finishing a chapter about alternative centaur healing methods and goblin medicine when Pansy strolled in. She looked beautiful and walked with a strut he hadn't seen her walk with in a while. Draco marked his spot in the book and tucked it in his apron pocket. Pansy moseyed up to the bar with a smirk on her far and beckoned for him to poor her a glass.

"Well, don't you look like a million galleons, love," he commented.

She tossed her hair back and stuck her nose up haughtily. "You can't put a price on my beauty."

"How about a drink on the house and a string of endless compliments?"

"Titillate me with conversation and then you'll be off to a start."

She smiled widely when Draco broke and chuckled. Pansy took the butterbeer he offered and sighed into the glass while taking a drink.

"How was your mum?" She looked at him like she had no idea what he was on about. "Come on, Pansy. I've known you for ages."

Pansy relented with a sigh, "Sordid. Talking nonsense. As always."

Draco watched her as she stared into her glass, taking a sip now and then. She looked miserable under all the glamour she was draped in. He knew each visit she paid to her mother took its toll on Pansy, but it was only ever blatantly obvious when she came back dressed to the nines.

Her bottom lip quivered, but she sucked it in quickly and steeled herself with a deep breath.

"Pansy…"

"Theodore Nott's a good bloke. Bloody persistent prick, but a good bloke," she commented. "I hate to admit it, but I am rather excited to take tea at his place. I haven't had a well brewed in a while."

"Do you know like the tea I bring home?"

"You get it from Borgin and Burkes, Draco. For all we know, it's laced with something. I worry that I'm going to turn into something dreadful after each sip."

Draco shot her a look, but she was already looking away. He hated when she looked so sad. Part of him wondered if he only cared that she looked as such when she was dressed up like she was. As if it was wrong for someone who looked so nice to be so down. How much did he ever really want to cheer her up when he saw her scowling normally? Hell, he even goaded her sour feelings when he found her huffing and puffing from dealing with Bex or a particularly disgruntled patron. Draco supposed you could never really let go of all the small impositions from your upbringing.

"Let's go out for a night, yeah?" Draco suggested against his better judgement.

Pansy turned her gaze back to him and there was something immensely skeptical in it. He should have heeded the look more than he actually did.

"Honestly," he pressed. "Let's go somewhere and be Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson for a night. We can tell tall tales about where we've been and what we've been doing. Who's going to know the difference?"

He grinned when Pansy struggled to mask the jolt of energy his suggestion actually gave her.

"We can apparate to Nott's, so I can borrow a suit and cloak from him. Why should we waste all the time and energy you put into looking nice today?"

"And the tavern?" Pansy's face dropped when she looked around.

"We keep it open until normal time. When would we ever turn up somewhere earlier than midnight?"

"I will hex your stupid arse into oblivion if you're lying to me, Draco Malfoy. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear," he promised with a smirk.

Pansy waited anxiously at the bar for Draco to finish the three hours left in the shift. Hardly anyone came into the tavern, and they barely made twenty sickles from the time Draco decided they were going out until closing actually came. Bex really ought to have raised the prices whenever someone talked about how cheap the tavern was. If Pansy was running the joint, she would have doubled the price and put the money into tidying up the place. Maybe turn it into a gastropub. But the Ministry was on Bex like freckles on the Weasleys. They wanted to take over the tavern, but as long as Bex had patrons coming in, Bex owned the joint. She assumed the Ministry planned on turning it over to a war hero in order to rejuvenate this part of Knockturn Alley—as she had heard they did with the Leaky Cauldron—but she couldn't be sure if they wanted the tavern or just wanted Bex out.

She didn't even know why she was so jittery to go out on the town for the night. The whole reason she sought out the life she was living was to not be Pansy Parkinson, but the idea of going back to her old self tonight was much more appealing than it had ever been. It was different. She and Draco could have been shagging their way across the Americas for all anyone knew. They could have been dining with elite wizarding families from other countries and continents. Besides, what were the chances they would actually run into people who knew them well?

Later, Draco had a look of regret on his face as they approached Nott's flat, and Pansy worried she was feeling that regret herself. They could hear music coming from his flat, and she had no idea why either of them held onto the hope that Nott was just listening to tunes alone. Both of them were fools, she knew it. Nott was a bore. He would only be listening to music if he was forced to. There was no way Nott would have mustered up enough culture to muse over music with wine. She cursed herself. She should have never let Draco talk her into this.

After he knocked twice on the tall door which separated Pansy from whatever the hell was going on inside, she grabbed Draco's arm roughly.

"We have to turn around," she whispered hurriedly.

He laughed uneasily at her, "What? So what if Nott is throwing a bash? Didn't we come out to be Draco and Pansy, Slytherin royalty, again?"

"I don't have a good feeling about this, Draco."

"It's Theo, Pansy," Draco reminded her. "Who could he possibly have here that we would know? Even if we did, it's more than likely other Slytherins who would eat out of the palm of our hands and do anything we told them to."

Theodore opened the door before she could respond. In a matter of a second, his face went through a series of emotions. Surprise. Glee. Consternation. Hesitant Acceptance. He threw a glance over his shoulder and then slipped out of his flat as quietly as he could.

"I can honestly say, you two are the last ones I expected to see tonight."

"I hope we're not entirely unwelcome," Draco responded.

"We can go," Pansy offered.

"No, please," Nott hurried to overcome Pansy's worry. "You're unexpected but not unwelcome, I swear it. I'm fundraising, you see, for my position within the department."

Draco looked at Pansy for rejection or acceptance. She supposed a fundraising crowd wouldn't be so bad. They couldn't be any worse than the people her grandmother threw at her. Pansy sucked her lips in and consented reluctantly. It was worth it for the smile that spread across Draco's stupidly handsome face.

"Excellent! I'll bring Pansy in and introduce her." Nott said and added, "And you can sneak in and shower, borrow clothes, whatever you need, mate," to Draco.

"We don't deserve a mate like you, Theo," Pansy told him, and Nott cackled and blushed faintly. "Come on, I'll be missed." He offered Pansy and arm, which she took willingly. At least Theo wouldn't be forcing her onto old cods with gnarly hands.

Pansy was truly impressed with Nott's flat. His job had either paid him incredibly well, or he made off like a bandit when he turned his father's intel and artifacts over to the Aurors. The fine paneling stretched into high vaulted ceilings and ran down into sleek, wooden floors that looked as if they were waxed regularly. Fine paintings lined the walls, and beautifully sculpted marble busts sat here and there on even more beautifully crafted Grecian pedestals. Who knew Theodore Nott had such taste? Her father fancied himself a sculptor, but he could never match the likes of Nott's gallery.

Nott motioned for Draco to take a left immediately upon entering, and Pansy could see they were blocked by a large panel which served as a divider between the foyer and the rooms Nott's guests were gathered in. It was decorated with Japanese art, and Pansy detected it might have belonged to Nott's mother at one point. If her memory served her, the late Mrs. Nott had a fondness for Japanese culture.

"I should warn you," Nott said as they stood in the foyer, watching Draco disappear down the corridor to the directed room. "These Healers I'm trying to impress are well-connected."

"No doubt," Pansy agreed, not thinking much on his words. "As long as my grandmother isn't here, I think I shall have a lovely night."

Nott made a noise which put the nerves back in Pansy, but he assured her that her grandmother was most definitely not in attendance. She had to swallow her anxiety, though, as her lead her past the divide and into the party.

Old Healers and cabinet members crowded the room. Some of them were around the jazz singer, crooning in the far corner with her band; others were situated at the bar, pestering the bartender for whatever their mates were having or whatever made them look the most sophisticated; and the rest were buzzing around from small group to small group in order to make their appearance in every circle. It was so familiar Pansy felt equally at ease and disgusted. This formula was one she knew and had mastered before she even hit puberty. She was a high born child with high born skills, after all.

Endless galas and governesses had taught her to attack the bar first, make an acquaintance there who would lead her over to the music, where she would meet another one to take her around and introduce her to each major and worthwhile group which made up the rest of the room. It was a foolproof tactic for working the room. Where you began said a lot about a person, according to her second governess. Those who immediately went to the crowd here fools and gossips. The ones who sought out the music first were wall flowers who would probably use the next song as an excuse to keep from socializing. And those who found the bar before people showed that their appearance was a gift to the host. They didn't need to be there, and maybe didn't even want to be there, but they would power through it with a smile on their face and drink in their hand.

Of course, Pansy thought as she scanned the room, her governess could have been full of shit and a closeted alcoholic; but it was a tried and true method which Pansy always adhered to. So she kept hold of Nott's arm but steered them towards the bar.

"A Richelieu and a Marie Antoinette, if you will," Nott told the barkeep.

"Pansy Parkinson, as I live and breathe," a familiar voice said, coming up beside Pansy and Nott at the bar.

Pansy turned her attention from the drinks being made to her old companion.

Millicent Bulstrode had never been a particularly attractive woman, but she had always been able to make herself presentable. Although, Pansy didn't remember Millicent actually making the effort during their days at Hogwarts. Once in a while, though, Pansy would beg her to go to a gala, and Millicent would put her best bred foot forward.

Tonight she had her dark hair pulled back like Grace Kelly, and her makeup done like Princess Diana. She was surprisingly well dressed for a woman who professed her family didn't have much money. Pansy recognized the skirt she was wearing as one from a collection which hadn't even come out yet. She was thoroughly impressed. She didn't know what poor bastard agreed to marry someone who would have to spend so much time on looking like a lady. Regardless, Millicent looked like she had been turned into a right woman of high wizarding society. Someone had done fine work.

"Millicent," Pansy smiled, "you're a sight for sore eyes."

"Only when I have to be, darling," Millicent kissed her cheek and gave her a once over. "You look sickly. Where on Earth have you been?"

"Here and there," Pansy answered obscurely. "Draco tells the adventures much better than I do," she lied. Draco was much better at talking to people than she was, at least.

"He's fixing himself up in the loo," Nott explained. "You know, Draco," he added with an inconspicuous wink at Pansy.

Nott left Pansy to mingle with Millicent while he made his rounds to wring money out of the old witches and wizards in the room. Pansy listened to her old mate, but she kept her gaze sweeping the room for Draco.

Millicent had done what all the other girls in Pansy's acquaintance had only talked about doing from the moment they hit puberty: she married rich and secured her wealth. Millicent told Pansy that her clothes were picked out for her every morning; her hair and makeup were done before she was allowed to leave her living quarters; the men and women she entertained were hand-picked by some sort of marketing team; and even her appearances in society were scheduled for specific motives. Pansy snorted into the second drink she was handed and confessed to Millicent that she reminded her of Blaise Zabini's mother who had relayed similar things to her when Pansy's grandmother tried to make a union between Blaise and herself.

"I imagine it does sound familiar," Millicent said with a smile to someone nearby. "The Zabinis take their place in society very seriously," she added in a hushed response.

Pansy's face went blank as she pieced together Millicent's insinuation, and when it hit it, she choked on her drink.

A few of the guests around them frowned at Pansy who waved off the attention.

"You married Blaise Zabini. You're the new Missus Zabini they talk about?"

Her companion looked slightly taken aback. Millicent was never one that people talked about, Pansy knew, and she imagined becoming Missus Zabini was a challenge for Millicent.

"What are they saying?" Millicent asked suspiciously.

Pansy laughed. "Only that dear Blaise has met his match. Never in a million years did I think you would be his match. How did that even happen?" She threw another glance around for Draco as she beckoned for another drink.

Hearing about their relationship made Pansy rather glad she didn't have one. According to Millicent, the Zabinis needed Blaise married off to someone whose family was not in close association with the Dark Arts but who also had a name. Blaise's mother new someone who knew someone who dry cleaned the Bulstrode's sheets, and a few weeks after the names were dropped, Blaise sent Millicent a letter for a meeting. Pansy was flabbergasted, truly. She thought well of Millicent—her sweet, simple Millie—but Merlin knows she had never pictured Millicent, a barge, being married to a Zabini. Did they shag? she wondered and gagged a little at her own musings.

"So he courted you?" Pansy inquired slowly. She cleared her throat and followed as Millicent lead her around the room.

"Merlin no," Millicent cackled. "He told me he needed to marry modest and asked if I could really afford to turn down someone with the Zabini name and money."

"How charming," Pansy sneered.

"Blaise isn't a good enough man to marry him for any other reason but money."

"He's a good cook," she supplied, remember the time she and Draco caught Blaise teaching Daphne Greengrass how to make some posh French dish.

"Not better than the Italian cooking for us now," Millicent replied. She took in Pansy's expression and went on, "Please don't think I'm unhappy. Access to anything I want is only a breath away, and I have more freedom than I've ever had before. Living under the same roof as Blaise again is a small price to pay for those privileges."

"You don't regret anything?"

"No," Millicent said firmly. "Could you not say the same?"

Pansy thought over the question as she watched the pianist prepare for another piece. She supposed she could. Given the chance to do it all over again, she thought she would make the same decisions and mistakes. Her life wasn't perfect, but she enjoyed it.

"Bloody hell," Pansy muttered when the two of them caught back up with Nott some drinks later. "Did Draco fall into a hole?"

Nott had a guilty look on his face that Pansy immediately zeroed in on. She asked him if he had seen Draco around, knowing full well he had.

"I think Draco left early. He didn't look too well."

Millicent chuckled, "He probably didn't want to run into Harry Potter and the She-Weasel."

"I beg your pardon?" Pansy snapped.

"Did I not mention they were here?"

Pansy gave each of them a sour look, "Neither of you did."

Nott politely pushed through the crowd, taking Pansy and Millicent to the next room where hors d'oeuvres were being served. Sure enough, Potter stood at the far enough of the room, looking awfully uncomfortable under the attention of the gaggle of people clearly talking about him. Ginny far outshined him. Pansy knew she had always been attractive, but the ginger was absolutely lovely with the extra effort she put into her appearance. She kept a steady hand on Potter's arm and smiled warmly at him from time to time in between conversing with those demanding her attention.

Pansy bristled at the sight of the man in their company, though. Dressed in one of Nott's shabbiest suits and with a formula saturating every strand of his blonde hair, Draco stood among the guests masquerading as the same character he was in Knockturn Alley. He talked with Potter and Weasley as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and when the latter said something, he broke out in giggles with her. Pansy dug her nails into her palm to keep from lashing out at Draco or from saying something she'd regret to Millicent and Nott.

"Who is that, Teddy?" Millicent asked with mild admiration for the dark-haired Draco.

"My potions' master," Nott said. "My career would be absolutely flat without him. Honestly, Millicent, he would have impressed Snape."

Millicent hummed. "I'd ask for an introduction, but I don't care to be around the other two."

"I doubt you'd catch him without Ginny nearby," Pansy replied pettily. "It's a wonder Potter stands for him to be near them."

"What that supposed to mean?" Millicent asked, sipping her drink.

"Pansy," Nott warned, but Pansy did not heed him.

"Just that I've heard someone's been warming Ginny Weasley's toes on cold afternoons in Knockturn Alley."

"Oh!" Millicent gasped softly. "You know, I've heard something similar."

"You have not." Nott interjected.

"Seriously, I have. One of the women I take tea with mentioned Ginny Weasley was working at Mulpepper's in Knockturn Alley and said there had to be someone keeping her interest there."

Pansy smirked over at the women who had been eavesdropping on their conversation.

"That's ridiculous," Nott hissed. "Ginny Weasley is not known for her fleeting emotions or fickleness."

Pansy nursed her drink with a forced smiled while Millicent went off to gossip with other women in her league and Nott to do clean up where he could. There was a small sting of guilt somewhere in her chest, but she mostly felt enraged. Perhaps a little betrayed. Draco had been the one to suggest the two of them be Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson for one night. Draco was the one who wanted to hobnob as elite Slytherins. Draco was the one who dragged her to bloody Nott's party when she was unsure. And Draco was the one to abandon her the moment he caught wind Ginny Weasley was here.

When he glanced back at her, Pansy raised her glass to Draco and left the room already abuzz with the latest gossip.


I swear this isn't a Pansy bashing fic. My girl's just a petty drunk.

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