Chapter Six: Sour Times

Pansy darted into the first class of the day and surveyed the lay of the land with a general's eye. What she saw made her squirm with glee: four open desks, one beside Ernie McMillan and one behind, the other two in the back of class. She slid into the seat beside Ernie and beamed winningly at him. "Good morning!" Terry Boot set his bag down on the desk behind Ernie's and Pansy twisted in her seat. "I was kind of saving that seat," she said. "Would you mind?" Terry rolled his eyes and hefted his bag again with exaggerated effort. "Thanks!" she sang, watching him retreat to the back of class. Daphne walked in and Pansy waved at her. Daphne waved back, walked straight to the corner desk on the other side of the room, and sat down with a wicked grin. Pansy smirked at her.

She had come up with the most wonderful new game. It was called Vex The Longbottom, and its objective could be gleaned from the title. The trick to Vex The Longbottom was that it was a covert operation: one must not let Neville realize that he was actively being vexed, and a light touch was key. Daphne was only too happy to join in when Pansy had conveniently let it slip that she thought that Longbottom might fancy her. The other girl had found the whole idea hilarious and threw herself wholeheartedly into making sure the Gryffindor was as uncomfortable as possible. Technically, they weren't making fun of Neville, Pansy reflected. They were just teasing him a bit. She wondered if he noticed what they were doing. Even if he hadn't cottoned on to the grander scheme, he had certainly noticed her flirting with Ernie yesterday. His face had been carefully neutral, but she'd seen his knuckles whiten as he gripped his quill.

Blaise was a great lover of games in general; it was a surprise, then, that he didn't like Vex The Longbottom at all and became foul-tempered whenever it was brought up. "It's not right," he'd said last night, the game's inaugural day. "You're going to give the poor bloke a complex, leading him on like that."

"That's…kind of the idea," Daphne had replied with a snigger, and Pansy had remained silent, letting them think she agreed with this sentiment.

"Nobody deserves that," Blaise had mumbled then, but Pansy knew that Blaise was wrong. Neville needed to be taught a lesson.

He came through the door now, and was followed immediately by Professor Flitwick. Pansy stretched her legs out ostentatiously as Neville took his seat and she pulled the collar of her robes down and away from her throat, as if they had been chafing her. As Flitwick wrote the title of the day's lecture on the board, she sighed and drew her hand across her newly-exposed flesh, listening for the scratch of Neville's quill or, more specifically, the lack thereof. Unfortunately, she couldn't discern whether or not he was transfixed by her artful display. She'd have to satisfy herself with Daphne's report at the end of class.

She didn't have another class with Neville until after lunch. When she and Daphne arrived at Defense Against the Dark Arts, Neville was already seated at the back of class. Pansy was surprised, as Neville's punctuality usually ranged from almost late to actually late. What surprised her more was that he was sitting beside Blaise, who was whispering in his ear. The Slytherin looked up, saw Pansy gaping at him, and raised his chin in an open show of defiance. Neville looked up too, his expression shuttered.

"Wanker," Pansy breathed.

"Hmm?" said Daphne, who was preoccupied with the strap of her bag.

"I think you've got competition," Pansy muttered, noting the way Blaise's arm was draped possessively over the back of Neville's chair.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "He's probably ruining our fun right now. He's dead."

Class began and even though Pansy was in plain sight in front of Neville, she was too disgruntled to even make a decent effort at Vex The Longbottom. She had the distinct feeling that Blaise was playing some sort of awful Vex The Parkinson. What had Blaise told Neville? More importantly, what had Neville told Blaise? No, this was not the way things were supposed to be working at all. Too late, Pansy understood what a precarious position she had put herself in. What if Neville had-? The possibility was too terrifying to dwell on. She'd never live it down. She was so stupid. But what if Blaise had told Neville that Pansy was trying to get his attention in order to disparage him? Technically, it was true, but Blaise didn't exactly have a nuanced grasp of the situation. The sun came out and flooded the classroom in light, but it didn't make Pansy feel any better about the situation. Oh, she just knew this was going to get spun the wrong way.

"Miss Granger!" the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Lamentina, cried. "Sit down this instant!" Pansy was jolted from her trance and realized that the classroom was lit not by the sun, but by Granger and other students. Light was emanating from a point on Granger's hip, and she had faced off against the professor. First crying in the halls past midnight, now openly defying authority? The Mudblood was off her rocker, and it was immensely entertaining. Other students were beginning to rise, too, and Pansy noticed that each one was marked by a ray of light.

"Professor," Granger said with a touch of impatience, "We've got to go. All of us," she said, waving a hand at her luminous brethren. They were inching closer to Granger protectively, looking ready to overpower Lamentina. Had she created some sort of zombie-like army for her uprising?

"All of you, sit down at once!" Lamentina shouted. "If I have to-" The door of the classroom burst open, revealing Professor McGonagall . Lamentina looked like she could kiss the Headmistress. "Minerva, would you-"

"The Tortoise Protocol has been invoked," McGonagall interrupted enigmatically. Pansy's eyes widened as she saw the glowing circle of light on McGonagall's chest. "I'll be away from the school so I trust you to carry everything, Arianne. Miss Granger, if you would collect the other students?"

Granger shot out of the room as if her life depended on it. Pansy shared a flabbergasted look with Daphne as McGonagall beckoned to the class and every student who was lit up followed her. She was still trying to make sense of what was going on when she felt a light brush against her shoulder that communicated a single word directly into her brain.

Goodbye.

Her neck cracked with the speed her head swiveled, and she saw that Neville had just passed her by. Pansy's breath hitched in her throat, an ill-defined terror gripping her senses. "What is going on?" she screamed at Neville's retreating figure, but he didn't answer or even slow his pace, and then he was gone.

"All students to the Great Hall," Lamentina snapped. Only four seventh-years remained in the classroom.

The professors were tight-lipped about why the entire student body had been shepherded into the Great Hall, but it didn't take a Ravenclaw to figure out that some dire event was occurring. All of Potter's friends were gone and the faculty was on edge. Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise sat in a sullen circle. Daphne was first to break the silence. "Do you think Potter's sacrificing us or something? Marking all of his friends and leaving us behind for the slaughter?"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Blaise snorted.

"Did you two see what actually happened?" Pansy asked. "I wasn't paying attention. I thought Granger had become some sort of Pied Piper and created an army to take over the school with or something."

Blaise considered this. "Okay, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Isn't it obvious? They're going to war."

"No," said Pansy. "My parents would've told me something."

"There's no other explanation."

"There has to be," Pansy said weakly, but her insides felt cold. Goodbye. "McGonagall wouldn't let students go to war."

"We're all of age," Blaise pointed out. "Look how the professors are watching us," he said, his voice lower now. "They think we're on our way to the Dark Lord."

Daphne shuddered and reached out to Blaise. "I'm so glad your mum forbade you to fight."

Pansy looked on sourly as her friends exchanged reassuring smiles. Daphne had the memory of a goldfish. She was supposed to be mad at Blaise right now. "What did you tell Neville, Zabini?" Pansy said to jog the other girl's memory.

"That's none of your business, is it?"

"I think it is."

"Isn't it enough to know that you made his last day on Earth miserable?" Blaise asked, a surprising amount of venom in his voice. "Do you really need the details?"

Pansy stood abruptly to stop herself from slapping her erstwhile friend across the face. He doesn't know, he couldn't possibly know what he's saying…. Guilt like she'd never known was causing her vision to grey, and for a moment she was certain she was about to faint. She could hear Daphne scolding Blaise for acting like a pearl-clutching old biddy but her voice seemed far away. She turned and sought out Morag on unsteady legs, unable to bear further reminders of her horrible game.

A/N: The next part of this is coming poorly so I've decided to chop it up and post this for now, unhappy as I am with it. Readers of this fic's companion, "Almighty Fear", know Neville's outcome in the battle, but please bear with me!