Title: Forgivable Expectations.
Author: Starvinbohemian (Jubilee3).
Pairings: Pansy/Draco, Pansy/Dean.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: "I forgot I was talking to a former member of the Inquisitor's Squad."
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Forgivable Expectations
Chapter 10: Peace Between Us
/
"They made peace between us. We embraced. And we have been mortal enemies ever since."
—Alain Rene Lesage, Le Diable Boiteux.
Rewind (one year)…
/ / /
At half-past two, silence suggestive of slumber had long since settled over the house. The staff at Malfoy Manor had retired for the night with the expectation that the family had as well. Flames from the fireplace tossed tall shadow figures that danced across the stone walls.
Crouched at the top of the staircase, Pansy and Draco leaned as far forward as they could without risk of falling down the stairs.
"Can you hear anything?" she whispered. The voices from the other room were a low murmur. They strained their ears in vain for some hint of what was being said behind those closed doors.
"Not with you blabbing in my ear— ouch! Don't pinch me, you—"
"What do you think they're talking about?" She attempted again to stretch her neck for a better look at the door but gave up with a wince when her muscles protested.
Draco rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"
She pinched him again.
"Damn it— Pansy!"
"Something's happening," she said grimly. "I can feel it." It was in the air… and in the ominous whispers coming from down the hall.
"How clever of you. What tipped you off? The secret assignation in the dead of night or the clumsy way your fool father rushed over here?" He shook his head in disgust. "If even a sixteen-year-old girl could follow him here, then he might as well have gone round to ask the aurors if they fancied a trip— ow! Pansy, you bitch! Stop pinching me!"
She glared at him. "What do you mean if a girl could—"
"Oh, shut it," he said with a groan.
Pansy hadn't intentionally followed her father over to Malfoy Manor. She hadn't even known he was out of bed when she herself had dressed and snuck out of the house. It was simple coincidence that she touched down her broom just outside the defensive spell boundary in time to see her father scurry through the ornate gates.
She waited long enough to see her father admitted at the front door and then she made the familiar track around the invisible wall, the steps memorized long ago. She had only triggered the spells once before. It was safe to say that being found by Lucius Malfoy in such an undignified position amounted to one of the most mortifying moments of her life. She had no intention of ever repeating the experience.
This complicated ritual could easily have been averted by simply going straight to the gates the way her father had, but the ritual had held over from their childhood. Plus, she wasn't too keen on the idea of explaining to her father or the elder Malfoys what she was doing sneaking over to visit Draco in the middle of the night.
When she explained all this to Draco, he raised an eyebrow at her. "You were planning to just pop in at this hour?"
"I wasn't sleeping," she said, feeling her cheeks pinking. "I knew you wouldn't be." Draco kept strange hours while they were on holiday breaks, and she had been woken up more than once in the middle of the night by an owl scratching at her window with some inane note.
"I should be in there," he said, shifting anxiously beside her.
Staring at the stubborn set of his jaw, Pansy felt her heart sink. He looked so sure of himself, so why did she suddenly feel so afraid? Swallowing against the tightening in her throat, she dropped her gaze to her knees where her fingers clutched the heavy wool fabric of her robe. "Is this it?" she whispered. "Is it really happening?"
Draco gave her a funny look. "I've been telling you it was coming for years."
"Yes, but it's hard to take a nine-year-old seriously when he still tries to stick toads down the back of your dress."
Her forlorn tone must have ruined the impact of her snark, because Draco looked more concerned than indignant.
"What is it?"
The war could have been beginning right down the hall from them, and he wondered what was wrong? How could she articulate her trepidation without coming off as a coward— or a traitor?
"Draco…" The words stuck in her throat, and she had to look away from his perplexed expression before she tried again. "What if I'm not ready?"
Their sides were pressed together, so she felt it when his body tensed. He shifted just fractionally, but it was enough so that their bodies no longer touched. She felt cold air rush in to replace his warmth. Don't, she thought. Don't do that. She didn't know what she would do if he pulled away from her now. Draco was the only thing in the world that made sense to her, but this whole thing felt so much bigger than them.
Draco shifted again, and their bodies came back together, even closer than before. He surprised her by taking her hand. "I'll be with you." He leaned his cheek against the crown of her head. "You'll be with me, won't you?"
Pansy felt the steady beat of his heart against her arm, and something, somewhere, shifted. She tried to swallow, though her throat felt like sandpaper.
"Yes."
/ / /
Fast-forward (one year, two weeks)…
/ / /
Somewhere along the beaten path— at least a mile down the green and twice around the Quidditch pitch— it finally occurred to her that this wasn't working. She stumbled to a stop with a gasped curse.
Jogging was supposed to clear her head. That was the idea anyway, why she had pulled her short hair back into a headband, donned a pair of old sweat pants, and just taken off. Alyssa jogged all the time, and her head was as empty as one could want.
Well, her sides felt as if they were about to burst, and even while she was doubled over, gasping for breath, with sweat-soaked bangs stinging her eyes— it wasn't enough. The buzzing wouldn't stop. It clouded her head and wouldn't leave her alone. Maybe she shouldn't have expected to be a champion jogger her first time out, but she was desperate to escape her own head.
Now what?
A flash of color caught her eye, and she glanced up to see one of the Quidditch players sore over the pitch. Practice must be starting. She watched for a moment, first confused and then confused at her confusion. It was such a small thing, but… Why shouldn't everyone else just go on as if nothing had happened? For them, it hadn't. Not yet.
Straightening up sent her pulse straight between her ears, but she was running again, and this time she wasn't going to stop until she was dead.
/ / /
Wait, too far (pull back two weeks)…
/ / /
"You know, when you said you were going to show me what, and I quote, 'bad girls can do,' I naturally assumed you meant a bit more than snogging."
She rolled her eyes, but a ridiculous grin had taken root on her face, and it robbed her words of any true punch. "Shut up. I recall a wayward hand or two, Dean Thomas, so you have nothing to complain about."
He laughed, and it was such a clear, honest sound— and because of her— that she thought, with a flutter in her chest, this. This is nice. There wasn't a lot of nice in her life at the moment, so… Yeah. Nice.
Still smiling, she moved to help Dean fix his tie, which had become impossibly tangled around his neck. "You're hopeless, Thomas."
"Hmn. Good thing I have you then."
She was startled into meeting his gaze. Dean looked so smug when her cheeks turned red that she couldn't help but stretch on tip-toe to press her mouth to his already kiss-bruised lips. "Lucky you."
Pansy felt his stare as she was straightening her clothes— she had let his hands wander because she was generous like that— and realized he was watching her. "What?"
"Is everything… I dunno, okay? You seemed kind of upset, um, before."
She looked away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay… that's usually what people say when there really is something wrong."
Turning on her heel, Pansy pressed into him and tilted her head back to give him a coy smile. "Do I look like something's wrong?"
She tried to run her fingers up his chest, but Dean gently caught her hand. "Don't."
Don't? Stung, she pulled back.
"We still need to talk about Padma."
Pansy could feel all her warm and tingly feelings begin to evaporate. "I have nothing to say about her, and I really don't see why you have anything to say about her."
"Padma's a friend," he said, not taking her hint.
Yeah, the warm and fuzzies were gone.
A little voice in the back of her head warned her to keep a level head, that she could still keep a lid on this instinctive rage. She ignored it. "Why am I not surprised that the Dean Thomas Collection of Annoying Friends has another addition?"
Pansy could see the annoyance manifesting on his face, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She was tired of hearing about how uncomplicated his relationships were with everyone else. "I don't need another of Patil's friends waxing poetic at me about her supposed virtues," she said coldly. "If you like her so much, then you can snog her."
Apparently losing his own battle with patience, he snapped, "No, that's Malfoy's job."
A horrible silence followed.
"Was that supposed to hurt me?" she asked finally.
Dean's expression was guarded. "Did it?"
That… wasn't the response she was expecting. Pansy opened her mouth and then closed it again before she could say anything because, no, this was wrong. She didn't need another relationship rife with passive-aggressive taunts and insecurity channeled into bitterness. She already had one Draco in her life.
Dean was supposed to be different, and he was, but… Was this her fault? Did she just have this effect on people? Memories of Lisa Turpin's tear-stained face and Terry Boot's furious expression taunted her, but even self-reflection couldn't stop a massive inner eye-roll because whatever. But Dean…
Pansy grabbed her bag from where she had flung it earlier. "I'm leaving."
"Come on," he said, beginning to look contrite, "we're talking..."
"No, you were lecturing me on behalf of Saint Padma and taking cheap shots at me."
She had one foot out the door when Dean caught her arm and pulled her back. She must really be going soft, because she actually let him. "Pansy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?"
It was definitely not okay, and she went reluctantly, remaining stiff, when he tugged her into his arms. He ran soothing hands up and down her back as if he were calming a nervous horse. Pansy inwardly rolled her eyes at this, too, but she could feel herself starting to melt nonetheless. How did she end up in this mess?
"You better be," she muttered into his shirt.
"I am."
Sighing, Pansy gave in and wound her arms around his waist. She felt him relax against her. This was also nice, she decided. "Good."
"Hey, I have an idea," Dean said, and she heard the smile in his voice. "How about we don't talk about Malfoy or Padma ever again?"
Pansy smiled, too, despite herself. "Sounds good to me."
"Then we have a deal?"
She hummed her agreement.
"There's actually something else I want to talk to you about…"
Was it her imagination or did he sound nervous? "What?" she asked warily.
"Well, I was thinking that—"
"Wait," she interrupted. "Did you hear that?" Suddenly alert, she glanced over her shoulder. It sounded like…
He frowned in confusion. "What? No, I—"
"Yes," she snapped, pushing off him. Dean went to say something, but she held up a finger in warning. He was looking at her as if she was insane, but she had definitely heard— there!
Pansy immediately took off after the sound of retreating footsteps. She had heard what sounded like someone's heavy breathing. The last thing she needed on her hands was a spy, but someone had definitely seen them, and they were making a quick escape.
She darted around the corner in time to see a flash of hair over someone's shoulder as they disappeared around the next corner.
It was enough. Cursing under her breath, she didn't even bother to follow. What would be the point? Merde.
She sensed Dean as he approached at her back, though his steps were much softer than those of the rhinoceros that had been attempting to shadow them. "Who was that?"
Her answer was resigned.
"Bulstrode."
/ / /
Pansy had put it off for as long as she could excuse— which turned out to be longer than one might expect, but probably not longer than a week. Tops. Ironically, once she had made the decision to just get this over with, the other girl was suddenly nowhere to be found.
The common room was deserted except for Theodore, who was reading the Daily Prophet next to the fireplace. She flopped into her favorite armchair with a dramatic sigh. "You seen Bulstrode?"
Theodore's eyes barely flicked up from his newspaper. "I suppose I missed the meeting when I was appointed her guardian?"
"You could have just said no," she said sourly.
"And you could have tried actually looking before succumbing to laziness."
"I did look," she whined.
He made a show of turning the page. "Uh-huh."
Pansy was about to pester him some more for lack of anything better to do, but Draco chose that moment to storm into the common room. She didn't mean to perform a double-take— they had an unspoken agreement to avoid making direct eye contact these days— but she couldn't help it this time because… was that water?
Theodore made a low whistling noise as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Well, that's a new look."
Water drip, drip, dripped onto the stone floor around squishing shoes. They were only treated to the sight of Draco, soaking wet from head-to-toe and furious as a drowned cat, for an all too brief moment before he turned and disappeared up the stairs without a word.
Pansy and Theodore exchanged bewildered looks.
"I hope we didn't miss the break-up to end all break-ups," he said, "because that would be completely unfair."
Her fingers encountered a loose thread on the chair arm; she tugged at it. "Doubtful."
"You don't think so?" he asked, watching her.
No. Of all the things she could think… no. "He could have taken a swim in Moaning Myrtle's toilet for all I care," Pansy said with a shrug. Feeling antsy all of a sudden, she hopped out of the chair. "I'm sure he'll regal us all at dinner with a carefully biased spin on whatever happened so he doesn't look like a complete idiot."
"No doubt," he agreed with a smirk.
"And if you don't know where Bulstrode is, then I don't know why I'm wasting my time talking to you."
He ignored that. "Why are you looking for her anyway? I thought Bulstrode was persona non grata."
"Don't bother trying to follow our logic, Nott. You'll only hurt yourself."
Theodore waited until she was almost out of the room before he called out to her. "Did you even bother to check the library?"
Her expression must have answered his question because he rolled his eyes so hard it actually looked painful. "So lazy."
"Shove it," she yelled over her shoulder, already intent on her destination.
Her legs were already kind of aching from her running all over the castle. Those dungeon stairs were steep and plentiful. She was huffing by the time she pushed open the heavy doors to the library. Theodore telling her the truth shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did, but she would have looked twice if he told her the sky was blue, so…
"Is this where you've been hiding all week?"
Millicent jerked in surprise at Pansy's sudden appearance at her side. Her expression soured into a scowl when she realized who was bothering her. "What do you want?"
Pansy borrowed Draco's favorite casual pose by propping a hip against Millicent's table and crossing her arms. "To talk to you. Obviously."
The nervous way Millicent's eyes skidded around them, as if she were looking for an escape or an ally, should have made her feel powerful. She didn't feel powerful. She felt tired. "Bulstrode— err, Millicent, I—"
Millicent cut her off. "I don't want to talk to you." Her forehead was knitted in the most ridiculous scowl, and Pansy had to wonder how anyone could ever find this girl intimidating.
"Maybe not," Pansy said carefully, "but I think we need to talk about one thing in particular."
"Dean Thomas?"
It was Pansy's turn to glance around with a nervous twitch, though she knew they were mostly alone in the library except for the librarian and a snoring student on the other side of the room. She had made sure of privacy before approaching this conversation. "You saw me with him."
Millicent didn't bother trying to deny it. She didn't flinch either at being confronted, which made Pansy feel vaguely proud.
"Were you following us?"
"No! I wasn't spying. Why would I follow you? You guys were standing right out in the open."
She had a point there.
"You're lucky everyone else hasn't caught on yet," Millicent continued. "You aren't even trying to hide it anymore. I guess the only reason they haven't is because everyone is so caught up in their own bullshit."
"Maybe they're distracted because one of our own betrayed us," she said evenly.
Shamed, Millicent frowned hard at the table. "Malfoy would murder you if he could be bothered to notice," she muttered.
That shouldn't have stung as much as it did. "Draco knows," she said with no small amount of vindictiveness.
"No, you're lying. If Malfoy knew…"
"He would do what exactly? As you so kindly just reminded me, he's been a little busy lately enjoying the fruits of his own hypocrisy."
Millicent shook her head as if to clear away the cobwebs of Pansy's words. "But…"
"No buts. He and I have an understanding," she said with a definitive wave of her hand. They had more important things to discuss at the moment. "I want to make sure you and I have one as well."
Red-faced, Millicent hunched forward over her book. "I don't understand you."
"What's your point?"
"I don't have one, I guess. I just thought I knew who you were, but you're actually more duplicitous than Zabini."
"More duplicitous? Careful with the big words there." Worse than Blaise Zabini? Yeah, right. No one short of the Dark Lord himself was worse than Zabini in her mind.
"At least you know exactly what she is," Millicent said with evident frustration, "but you change with the scenery. One minute you're Snape's pet, aspiring Death Eater, and queen of the Slytherin bigots. Then, you're snogging a Mudblood and acting like a victim of the system— even though you work every day to keep that system!"
Pansy winced when Millicent's voice broke over her next words. "One minute, you're my friend, and then you're trying to murder me. Who the hell are you?"
Her throat suddenly felt tight. "I'm just me, Millicent," she managed. "And I didn't try to kill you. Not really…"
Yet, there was no way to mistake the disgust on the other girl's face. "You think you can have it all, don't you? You want to have Malfoy and all the prestige that comes with him. You want to sit at the top of the hierarchy, keep Zabini as your guard dog, and all the while you'll be sneaking off to snog Dean Thomas. Are you completely off your rock? You must be if you think you can pull that off. It's a miracle you've gotten away with it this long."
Pansy sighed and dropped into the seat next to Millicent. She ignored Millicent's flinch as she scooted the chair into her personal space. "I'm going to tell you something, Bulstrode," she said in a low voice, "and if you're smarter than I give you credit for then you'll listen."
Millicent stared.
"You're probably thinking to yourself that what you know gives you some kind of power over me. Of course you are. You've been treated like shite ever since you betrayed us to Dumbledore, and here's an opportunity to make that go away, right?"
Millicent's eyes brightened with a resentful light, and Pansy knew she had hit a mark. "I wouldn't blame you for thinking like that. That's smart. I've compromised myself. That's obvious."
She paused both for dramatic effect and because even she couldn't believe what she was about to say. "The truth is that my relationship with Thomas gives me power over you."
Millicent made a choking sound. "If they find out what you've been doing, they'll tear you apart."
She shrugged. "They'd try."
"You don't want them to know," Millicent said with certainty. She didn't seem iimpressed with Pansy's boldness. "You'd never tell."
"You're right," Pansy allowed, "but that's not going to be a problem because you won't tell them either."
Millicent shook her head as if she couldn't believe Pansy's gall. "Why not?"
Pansy grinned, and it must have made for a frightening sight if Millicent's expression was anything to go by. "You may hate me, but you don't want to see me taken down." She jabbed a finger at Millicent's sternum. "I'll tell you why. You want the person who hates you the least to be in charge. If I'm out, then it's Zabini. This is exactly the kind of break she's been waiting for. Do you really want to see Zabini with all the power and influence of Slytherin House at her beck and call?"
Millicent's face paled, and Pansy sat back with a satisfied sigh. "I didn't think so. That's why we're going to make a deal."
"A deal?"
"Yes, you're going to keep your mouth shut or else Zabini is going to unleash the hounds of war and make your life a living hell. And I'm going to stand back and watch with unholy glee."
"That's… that's not a deal!"
"Sorry, poor choice of words. Blackmail? Yes, blackmail is what I meant."
"You…"
"I'm blackmailing your blackmail," she said cheerfully.
Millicent scrambled to her feet and began stuffing things into her bag, no doubt in preparation for making a hasty exit.
"Come on, even you have to admit this is for the best. I'll even throw in some extra incentive and tell the others to go easy on you from now on. You won't have to double-check your shampoo anymore for— what was that horrible stuff they put in there yesterday?"
Millicent glared at her. "Do you even hear yourself?" she hissed. "The person who 'hates me the least' tried to murder me."
Pansy didn't bother to correct her a second time. "Slytherin house, Bulstrode. About time you got used to it, don't you think?"
/ / /
Theodore was twitching.
Pansy hadn't meant to stare, but it was kind of hard not to when he was radiating nervous tension like a beacon. Draco finally delivered a swift kick to Theodore's shin, and he settled down.
Her eyes narrowed. Something was happening.
She tossed a wary glance toward Blaise and Raquel, who were snickering to themselves as they flicked pieces of parchment at the back of Granger's bushy head. Same old, same old over there. Alyssa was snoring into her arms. Bulstrode... well, who cared? She wouldn't be in on it anyway. She couldn't see Crabbe or Goyle's face from her place in the back, but Crabbe's shoulders were hunched miserably. The boys knew something.
It could be nothing. Considering that it was Draco and Theodore, she probably didn't even want to know.
Then why did it feel as if a rock had just settled in her gut? She didn't like being kept out of the loop. She couldn't afford to be.
Pansy frowned when a piece of crumbled up parchment hit the side of her head. She turned slowly, prepared to give Blaise the eye of death, but it wasn't Blaise who met her gaze.
Seamus Finnegan? She glared at him, but he shrugged at her and pointed to... oh. Dean grinned at her from across the room, and she inwardly sighed. Did anyone besides Finnegan see?
"What?" she mouthed at him.
"Watch," he mouthed back. At least, she thought that's what he said.
Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. What was he doing?
Dean made sure he had her attention, and then he started fiddling with a piece of parchment, folding in the corners until it started to resemble a little person.
He teetered his wand between his fingers like a puppeteer manipulating invisible strings, and his little paper man stood and scuttled awkwardly across Dean's desk. Paper man jumped to the floor and hid behind a leg of Dean's stool.
Dean waited until Professor Sprout had turned away from them to write on the board, and then paper man made a diagonal dash between her and Dean's desks.
The whole show was so ridiculous she could only shake her head. There was no denying it at this point. She was involved with a clown.
Pansy considered refusing to be charmed, but that was probably a losing battle. Deciding to play along, she feigned a cough and knocked her quill off the desk. She was just bending to catch up Dean's creation when— smash— a shoe came down on him.
Startled, Pansy straightened with a snap. Dean gave her a dismayed look, but there was nothing she could do except watch helplessly as Draco bent to pick up the paper man.
Turning in his chair, Draco held her stare as he deliberately took his time unfolding the corners of the parchment. His lip curled into a sneer when he read whatever Dean had written for her.
She could feel herself beginning to crumble, but no, she wouldn't because he wasn't allowed to do this to her anymore. Gripping the table hard enough to crack her fingers, she set her jaw and closed off her expression.
Without looking at her again, Draco crumbled up the note and dropped it onto the floor. The no-longer-paper-man twitched once and then stopped moving altogether.
Pansy and Dean shared a resigned glance before she dropped her chin onto folded arms with a sigh.
/ / /
She had to wait until the room had emptied before she could rescue the note.
This is what Dean's note to her said: Astronomy Tower at lunch?
She tore the note into several tiny pieces.
Throughout her next class, the professor's voice was a distant murmur unworthy of notice, and she composed a one-sided conversation in her head.
The script employed the typical clichés, opening with an accusation— you have no right— following with some deflection— you chose this, not me— and rounding off with a lie— maybe we could be happy for each other someday— but the script eventually trailed off when she realized that she couldn't predict his responses anymore.
In the end, she really only had one question for him.
This is what Pansy scribbled onto a piece of spare parchment in place of her typically succinct memos:
Draco, what do you want from me?
She thought that if she could just understand that much, then everything else would start to make sense. Maybe then they could all just move on even if she didn't really know what that meant at this point. Maybe if they were different people…
She crumbled up the note before she left the classroom.
/ / /
"Can I move now?"
The paint brush drew lovingly down his spine, leaving a sea foam green trail across his dark skin. Biting her lip in concentration, she curved the line into a delicate spiral above his hipbone. "No. And don't talk."
Dean sighed and settled his face back down into his folded arms.
Pansy leaned over from her perch on his bare back to reach her cerulean blue paint. She traced an outline that could have been the ripple of water across his shoulder blades. She wasn't working with any particular goal in mind other than to capture the feeling of what was turning out to be a lovely afternoon spent in a clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and away from prying eyes.
The air was still a bit frosty, but Pansy was tired of searching out abandoned classrooms and corridors, not to mention getting caught in abandoned classrooms and corridors. She had charmed the blanket beneath Dean so that it would remain warm. She liked to think that the few times she had noticed him shiver were because of her touch and not because he was bravely soldiering through the onset of hypothermia.
"If I were to look back there, would I see something nice and pleasant like Monet's water lilies or would I see something more akin to the nightmare fuel that is Francis Bacon?"
Her brush accidentally slipped and poked him in the neck. "What did I say about speaking?"
Something cold brushed against her neck, and she glanced over her shoulder at the offending branch— tentacle? Branch tentacle?
The temula seemed to grin at her. The plant had grown to five times the size it was when they first inherited it. Pansy and Dean's official excuse for going out there together had been to plant him— not that anyone had asked her where she was going— but that had taken all of five minutes. There wouldn't be a believable excuse for the picture they made if anyone were to come upon them now.
"The plant is getting fresh with me," she said. Or maybe he was trying to communicate some form of distress over having been planted in the ground while it was still technically winter. Pansy had her doubts, but Professor Sprout assured them that the temuli would flourish no matter the season.
"Well, the plant has good taste."
The smirk on Dean's face was the only reason she didn't hurl something at his head. Well, that and she was enjoying being in a generally good mood. This time with Dean— when they weren't fighting, when they were just enjoying each other's company— was hers and hers alone. No obligations, peer or familial pressure, petty rivalries, crippling insecurities, or the weight of the future bearing down on her. Just a girl, a boy, and simple, normal attraction coupled with innocent recreation… Well, mostly innocent.
Leaning over so that her lips brushed the shell of his ear, she murmured, "It's more like Chagall's Concert."
She squeaked in surprise when Dean caught her arm, and suddenly she was on her back and staring up at him as he crouched over her. Déjà vu. "Um…"
"Hello."
Despite her discomfort, her heart went bump, bump, bump in her chest at his smile. From this angle, she had a really good view of his strong arms. They were still warm from pressing against her charmed blanket.
"You're getting paint all over me," she said in a breathy voice.
His smile actually became a smirk as he settled over her. "It looks good on you."
Pansy rolled her eyes and then pulled him down for a kiss. One kiss became two, then three, then five, and then she lost count. Dean's hand sneaked into her hair, and she even forgot to feel self-conscious about the choppy mess she had made of it.
She was just starting to lose herself in the pleasant sensations when Dean pulled away enough to whisper against her mouth, "Want to know something?"
"No," she said, trying to kiss him again.
Dodging her, he laughed. "I'm going to tell you anyway."
She flopped back with a sigh. "Oh, if you insist on talking."
"I do."
"Then get on with it so we can get back to snogging," she teased.
"All right." Dean took a deep breath as if in preparation, and she quickly understood why. "I want to tell people about us."
Aaaaannnd moment over. Pansy stiffened beneath him.
"Just a few people," he said quickly. "People that matter."
She didn't respond to that, but her face must have revealed her thoughts because Dean's happy expression quickly wilted into disappointment. The fact that he looked so hurt frightened her more than anything else because it meant he was serious.
Pansy pushed at his shoulders until he took the hint and maneuvered so that she could slide out from under him. Without looking at him, Pansy pushed off the ground and stood.
"Think about it," he urged. "We don't have any reason to feel guilty, but all this sneaking around and lying makes me feel guilty. If people knew, then we wouldn't have to sneak around so much. We could be like everyone else and—"
"And what? What would we be like?"
Dean didn't seem to detect the dangerous undercurrent in her soft voice, so he said, "I don't know— better? I could talk to you whenever I wanted. We could sit together in class and—"
"Hold hands while skipping down the corridors?" she finished nastily.
Finally catching onto her mood, Dean gave a sigh that suggested many things but not surprise. He reached for his discarded shirt and pulled it on despite the wet paint all over his back. Maybe he needed the extra armor for this conversation. He probably did.
Pansy did her best to stem all the negative feelings bubbling over inside her, but it was no easy thing. "I just got everyone who knows about us under control, and you want to start telling more people?"
"What do you mean you got them 'under control'?" he asked suspiciously. "What did you do?"
"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "I did what I had to do to keep us safe."
Dean's eyes widened. "Safe? What are you talking about?"
He could not possibly be so naïve. Then again, he had told Seamus Finnegan about them and didn't seem at all chagrined about that. A seed of doubt wiggled itself into existence, and she looked at him with new eyes. "Do you have any idea what I've had to do to keep this thing under wraps?"
"So, we're back to you being ashamed of me," he said darkly.
There was a white noise between her ears. "Are you serious? Dean, have you not noticed what's been happening to Millicent Bulstrode lately?"
He obviously had to think about what she was referencing, which just went to prove that no one cared about the Slytherins unless they were given no other choice. "Raquel Briggs knocked ink into her lap today in class," he said slowly, "and Zabini accidentally set her hair on fire…"
Accident, she thought. Right.
His eyes widened. "Are you saying Millicent Bulstrode is being terrorized because she knows about us?"
"No, but she offers a perfect example for what happens when one of us steps out of line."
"Slytherins?"
"Did you wake up on the slow side of the bed this morning? Yes! Millicent went against the pack, and now she's being punished."
Dean shook his head, clearly at a loss. "What did she do?"
"That's… not important," she said, ignoring his disbelieving look. "The important thing here is cause and effect, and what's in the best interests of the group. She went against the interests of the group."
"I wish you could hear yourself right now," he said, "because I'm getting shivers and not the good kind."
Hurt, she lashed back, "Every house has their own way of dealing with things, Thomas! Gryffindors bitch and moan and blame everyone else for their problems. This is how Slytherins self-regulate."
He was looking at her as if he had never seen her before. "That's sick. You know that's sick, right? And… surprisingly Bolshevik."
"I don't know who that is!"
"Who? Bolshev— never mind. Actually, that doesn't surprise me. Really. At all. I forgot I was talking to a former member of the Inquisitor's Squad."
"What's your point?"
"What's yours? Are you saying that Bulstrode deserves all the horrible things you guys have been doing to her?"
Again, she felt the press of her foot against Millicent's windpipe and the rush of excitement and horror and… had to look away from him. "You don't know the back story," she said feebly, though even she was at a loss for how she could justify her actions in that bathroom. A little spilt ink hardly compared…
"Pansy!"
"What? You can't lecture me about things you don't understand!"
Dean turned his back on her while he got his temper under control. She could see the tension in his back, and for some reason it made her angrier. What did he have to be so upset about? Dean, with his nice friends, his nice art club, and his nice life was going to stand here and judge her for the things she had to do in order to survive?
"Does this mean… do you…?" He ran a frustrated hand over his short hair. "Are we never going to tell people about us?"
"No!"
Her harsh answer surprised both of them, and Pansy instantly regretted her angry tone and the surprised hurt on Dean's face, but she couldn't take it back because she realized she meant it.
Dean's expression soothed over into a distinct lack of expression as he took a step away from her. "I need to… not be here right now," he said in a choked voice.
Pansy stood awkwardly by as he hastily gathered up his art supplies without looking at her. She knew what Dean wanted to hear. "I'm sorry. Yes, of course I want to tell everyone about us. I want to hold your hand in between classes, eat meals together, and pass ridiculous notes with you. I want to be your girlfriend."
Her tongue was made of stone, and she said nothing.
She watched him go with a sinking feeling in her gut because how could she tell him those things? She didn't even know if she wanted those things, let alone enough to take on her whole house— and she would have to take on her whole house. And for what? Was it worth the pain of humiliation and ostracism just for the sake of putting public claims on each other?
The temula chirped what could have been a goodbye as she left the clearing. She barely glanced at it. Feeling raw and miserable, she made her way back to the castle.
Pansy was so lost to her thoughts that she didn't immediately notice the figure waiting for her at the bottom of the stone staircase that led down into the dungeons. Caught off guard, she drew up short.
Draco stared impassively back at her. He was leaning against a statue of Ambrose the Ambitious, but he straightened when she neared.
Pansy paused on the last step, and they regarded one another warily. She considered turning around and marching right back up the stairs, her aching calves be damned, because they weren't supposed to be speaking for a reason.
"What do you want?" she asked when the silence went on for too long.
"We need to talk."
/ / /
Spring forward…
/ / /
Only after her lungs were close to bursting in her chest and when she was choking on spit and phlegm did she stumble to a stop.
Bent over, she clutched her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. Come on, she willed to her body. You have to keep going because… because if you don't… then…
Merlin, how was she going to do this?
/ / /
… (till you land)…
/ / /
They needed to talk. Huh.
"Funny because that isn't the impression I've had. " She realized this was probably unfair of her to say when she was the one who told him to stay away. Then again, she wasn't really certain what would be fair to Draco at this point— or to her, for that matter.
"Well, you've been rather busy lately," he said evenly, "so I don't blame you for not noticing."
She crossed her arms with a resolute lift of her chin, ready for a fight, but Draco immediately dropped the bravado with a weary sigh.
"This is important."
After the scene with Dean, Pansy felt quite certain she wasn't up for another "important" discussion with Draco. Just the thought made her feel exhausted.
But something about his serious tone caught her attention, and she found herself saying, "What's wrong?"
"We need to talk somewhere else," he said pointedly.
Oh. "Lead the way."
She ended up having to retrace her footsteps as Draco led her back outside into the winter air. He surprised her by walking past the Forbidden Forest and then bypassing the path down to the Quidditch pitch. Instead, he headed toward the Great Lake.
Pansy struggled to keep up after having already traveled from one end of the castle to the other, but if Draco noticed her huffing and puffing, then he still took no pity on her and continued in his punishing stride. Admittedly, her curiosity was piqued.
When they reached the dock, she finally grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Hold on! Where are we going?"
Draco ignored her question. "This way."
With a long-suffering sigh, she followed him onto a long, steep path that led up a cliff side that overlooked not just the Great Lake but the entire valley. The setting sun cast an orange reflection over the newly thawed water. As annoyed as she felt, she couldn't help admiring the view.
Pansy turned back to Draco with no shortage of reluctance when she felt his eyes on her. The orange hues cast by the sunset made even Draco with his icy tones look as if he would be warm to the touch. She stuffed her hands into her pockets. "What are we doing out here? What's going on?"
Draco's response threw her for a loop. "Do you know how the Durmstrang ship got back to Bulgaria after the Triwizard Tournament?"
"No…" Pansy waited for him to make his point. When he only waited right back, she gave an irritated huff. "Draco, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Think about it," he urged. "The ship went under the water and then poof! Gone. Where did the ship go?"
"Back to Bulgaria," she said begrudgingly.
"Yes, but how?"
Maybe if she pinched the bridge of her nose really hard, she could stave off the headache this conversation was giving her. "I don't know, Draco, so why don't you just tell me?"
"I didn't know either," he said, clearly ignoring her disinterest, "but I wanted to find out. So, I did."
"I still don't—"
"Think about it." Draco pointed out to the Great Lake. "Look."
Pansy made a show of groaning, but it was all a show because she was going to play along. She shrouded her eyes from the sun and squinted into the distance. The orange loch glittered at her and held its secrets. Draco wanted her to come up with a theory about how the Durmstrang ship got home, but she had never given them another thought after all those boys disappeared into the water.
She was just wondering how deep the loch went when inspiration unexpectedly struck. "A portkey!" she cried. "They put a portkey at the center of the Great Lake, didn't they?"
Draco smiled, and Pansy felt a spark of pride for having figured it out. Then, she realized something else. "That day you were soaking wet in the common room… Did you swim to the bottom of the lake?"
"Top marks."
"But how? The lake has to be miles deep!"
"Gillyweed from Professor Snape's stores. Remember how Potter used it during the Triwizard Tournament?"
"I guess," she said uncertainly. She couldn't believe he had stolen from Professor Snape again. He was going to get himself castrated. "I don't understand why you would do all this. Were you looking for the portkey the Bulgarians used?"
"No," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "that was deactivated ages ago."
Curioser and curiouser. Pansy felt certain she was missing something here, as in why in the hell they were even having this conversation. "Damn it, Draco, either tell me what's going on or—"
It was Draco's turn to groan. "Have you always been this slow? I'm going to plant another portkey!"
Pansy's hand moved absently to her chest, where something cold had suddenly settled. "You… why?"
Draco's eyes gleamed with zeal as he babbled excitedly, "I've figured everything out. We can't get out during the regular term because they're watching our every move, and the Death Eaters can't get in because of the spells protecting the school. The protective barrier goes around the entire grounds and up for several miles to prevent people flying in but…" And here he smiled. "It doesn't go several miles down."
"But… the dungeons—"
"— don't go down that deep. I'm talking about several miles down. It felt as if I was swimming for hours before I got to the bottom."
They had discussed possible methods of escape and invasion several times over the years— usually when they were bored— and someone had once suggested tunneling beneath the barrier, but no one had ever thought to swim under it. Draco must have been exhausted after all that swimming. Pansy would have been terrified to swim that deep with all those creatures down there, and the farther down he got, the darker it would have become, but he did it.
Shaking her head in wonderment, Pansy nearly found herself smiling back at him. "You're crazy."
"I thought you'd like that," he said, grinning.
She did for all of a second, but then all the implications came crashing down on her and then she couldn't have smiled even if she wanted to. Their proximity to the edge of the cliff suddenly made her feel dizzy, and she backed away to a safer distance.
"If I figured it out in two seconds," she said, bringing their feet back down to the ground, "then everyone else would figure it out eventually, too. They would know there was a portkey and— worse— who put it there."
"Probably," he allowed. "But by then, it won't matter."
A nervous flutter went through her belly. "What do you mean?"
When he didn't respond immediately, her nervous flutter became a monsoon. "Draco?"
Draco gave her a measuring look, and she must not have instilled much confidence because he frowned. "It won't matter if they figure out I planted a portkey," he said, "because we'll already be long gone by then."
Gone as in… gone.
Oh, Merlin, she really was slow.
Pansy didn't realize she was backing away from him until Draco grabbed her arm. "No. Not yet." Under normal circumstances, the pleading in her voice would have embarrassed her. She was too afraid to feel embarrassed.
Draco's eyes were bright and earnest as he brushed the hair out of her eyes, but his hand was shaking. "Pansy, I'm telling you this because the time for making choices and choosing sides is over. We're leaving." His voice dropped so low she could barely hear it over the whistle of the wind. "It's time to join the Dark Lord."
His hand fell on her cheek, his palm warm on her chilled skin. She shook her head in denial. "You told Theodore that leaving was a bad idea." She had felt so relieved when he agreed with her. Was that only a few weeks ago?
"Actually, I said we should stay put until the Dark Lord wanted us with him. Father warned me over the holiday that he might be summoning us sooner rather than later. Turns out he was right because he wrote me last week to say it's time. It's time."
With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled out of his hold. "You've known since Christmas this was coming?"
His silence was answer enough.
"Do the others know?" It would explain why Theodore had been acting guilty and suspicious lately.
"Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott know. Still not sure if Bulstrode should be given the option, all things considered…"
Pansy didn't give a fig for Millicent at the moment. She couldn't keep the betrayal from her voice. "How could you not tell me? You told those idiots, but you didn't tell me?"
Draco gave her a look. "We haven't been speaking, if you'll recall."
"Are you kidding me?" she cried. "This is more important than—"
"Pansy, you told me you don't believe in the cause!"
"That isn't what I said! And I didn't say what I did so you could use it against me later!"
He looked skeptical. "So you do believe—?"
She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Draco, you don't really believe it! All that shite your father says—"
"Don't."
Feeling helpless, Pansy turned away from him and dragged frustrated hands through her shorn hair. "What about Patil?" she asked out of desperation.
He sighed and looked away. "This has nothing to do with her."
"Nothing?"
Draco's warning look didn't deter her at all. He was asking her to give up everything she had ever worked for, and he didn't want to talk about sacrifice? Being top of the Slytherin pyramid didn't count for much if there was no Slytherin house. She could kiss her potentially prestigious art career goodbye, not to mention her education. Professor Snape would never mentor her again, and Dean— oh, Dean.
"You aren't expecting to take her along, are you?" Her casual provocation was belied by the tremor in her voice. "Something tells me dear, perfect Padma would object to the Death Eater career path."
He rolled his eyes. "I am not going to talk about her with you."
"Really? You were fairly eager to share over the holiday. Something about her finally 'cracking'?"
"That was then."
She inhaled a deep lungful of freezing air to prevent screaming herself hoarse. "Ah, yes. Before you were building social bridges, kissing babies, and rescuing puppies. Oh, wait. You don't do any of those things, but Patil thinks you're reformed. How the hell are you going to explain to her what you're doing?"
How was she going to tell Dean?
"I'm not."
That took her aback. "What do you mean?"
He glared at her. "I don't have to tell her anything because I broke up with her."
For a moment, all the buzzing in her head settled into silence, and she just looked at him— really looked at him. He looked sad and so tired. And that's how she knew with absolute certainty that he was serious and this was really happening.
"Why?" she croaked. "You were…" Oh, it cost her everything to say it. "… happy."
That was the worst part.
Maybe it was the cruelest thing she could have said because Draco actually had to turn away before she could see an emotion she was never meant to see slip through the cracks of his detached façade.
Pansy closed her eyes and listened to the pounding of her heart while she waited for him to get himself together. When he turned back to her, she was surprised to see that he looked more confused than distraught.
"Padma…" Draco let her name hang between them for a moment. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "She was never going to be forever."
The sadness she heard in his voice made Pansy's heart ache, and it was her turn to look away. "If she was never important, then what was the point of all this?"
He tried to scoff, but she wasn't fooled. "I never said she was important. You're the one insisting on making mountains out of molehills."
The audacity of it took her breath away. "Draco Malfoy, don't you dare tell me she means nothing to you when you chose her over me and everything we are to each other."
He looked stricken. "I didn't—"
"Yes." She looked straight into his eyes, imagining she could bore the words straight into his brain. "You did."
Draco seemed to deflate as he said, "It wasn't like that. Not to me."
She sucked in a wet breath. "You lie like breathing."
"No!" He grabbed her arms as if she were going to run if he didn't anchor her there. "Merlin's beard! Is this really what you want to talk about right now?"
She tried to jerk away, but his grip only tightened. "Let go of me, you—"
Draco's eyes were fever bright when he abruptly shook her. Pansy was surprised enough to stop struggling. "No!" he whispered savagely. He was so close he filled her vision. "I listened to you that day at your house, and now you have to listen to me."
He's afraid, she realized.
Dazed, she watched him struggle to bring his emotions under control. "Pansy, ma chérie," he entreated. "I want you with me. We belong together. Always have, always…"
He faltered, and she felt a deep well of sadness spring from her chest. Always will was on the tip of her tongue but…
"I don't know if I can do this without you," he admitted.
She didn't know if she could let him do this without her, if she could let him go where she couldn't follow.
"You'll be with me, won't you?"
A whole year after two children sat on a staircase and discussed things they knew nothing about, things that would determine the rest of their lives, and Pansy still didn't feel ready.
She pressed her knuckles against her eyes as if she could block the whole thing out. "Draco, this is crazy."
"I know. But it is happening."
"When is it happening?" How much warning did she have?
"A week."
She choked on a hysterical laugh. A week? That was all?
"I need to know if you're coming with us."
Two weeks at home, and her father barely said two words to her. If he knew this was coming, then he gave her no warning. None.
"I can't force you to come," he continued, "but I didn't want you to wake up one morning only to find all of us gone."
Gone, gone, gone… The word just kept echoing over and over in her mind. All her nightmares were coming true even though none of this was ever supposed to be real. Their joining the Dark Lord was supposed to stay a hypothetical scenario placed safely in the future. How could they ask her to do this? How could she not be ready even after all this time she had to prepare?
Pansy steeled herself to ask the question she had been avoiding for as long as she could remember. She couldn't look at him as she said it. "What if I said no?"
It went against every one of her instincts to push the matter, but Pansy had to know. What if she were the one to ask for a sacrifice? Despite all of their problems, she couldn't picture a life without him. She'd never wanted that. Not really.
For a brief moment, Draco's fingers tightened hard enough to bruise on her arms. Then, he was pulling away from her in more ways than one. His hands and his warmth were gone, and she was left shivering and terrified by the flash of panic she had seen in his eyes, as if she had already decided to stay. But she hadn't.
Jaw tight, Draco wrapped his arms across his chest and stared pensively down at his feet. Did he feel the cold, too? Was it the wind, or could he already feel the loss of her?
Pansy wanted to reassure him because she felt the ache, too, but she had to know, and so she held her breath and waited for him to spell out her fate, which he did with reluctant yet absolute resolution.
"Then you're on your own."
/ / /
… Now fall back (to the beginning)
TBC…
Author's Note:
A huge thanks to all the readers still keeping up with this story. I know updates are few and far between, but I believe your commitment deserves my own commitment to finishing this story. Thank you.