X. Marry
Pansy's cousin is getting married. She knows she should be happy for her, but all she can feel is sadness. Her cousin is getting married and the boy Pansy's in love with still hasn't so much as looked at her.
"What are you sulking about, Parkinson?" Tracey Davis is in the dormitory as well, a bored expression on her face and a History of Magic textbook the size of a tombstone balanced on her knees.
"It's none of your business, Davis," Pansy snarls. "And for your information I am not sulking!"
"Sure, and the Pope's not a Catholic," Tracey drawls. Pansy has no idea what she means, but she doesn't want to show that so she just glares even harder at the other girl.
"Shut up, Davis."
"Did I say anything?" Tracey asks. "Really, Parkinson, your sulky manner is doing you no favours."
"I'm not sulking!" Pansy shrieks. "It's just that my cousin's getting married."
"Ah, and Malfoy's still acting like a ponce, is that it?" she yawns, looking thoroughly uninterested. "Get over it, Parkinson. You're only fourteen."
"My cousin's only sixteen," Pansy replies.
Tracey looks up then, shocked. Pansy can't understand why.
"Fucking stupid pureblood chauvinists," Tracey mutters into her book. She looks like she's just swallowed five whole acid pops in a row.
Pansy sneers at her. Who is Tracey Davis to think she knows anything about life?