XXXVII. Awkward

Pansy has never felt such an awkward atmosphere in her life. What makes it even worse is the fact that no one else seems to have noticed it. Draco had started talking to her again as though nothing had ever gone wrong between them, and just when she thought things couldn't get better, Blaise Zabini of all people had decided to show his face.

She knows that he interrupted their conversation on purpose to make her feel terrible: Draco and Blaise have never spoken more than a handful of words to each other when sober in their entire time at Hogwarts. But Blaise had sat down just as things had begun to feel normal again, and Pansy had almost failed to escape before Draco realised that something was wrong.

Now she's sitting in another corner of the common room, trying to busy herself with her Transfiguration work like she'd claimed she needed to but failing dismally. She can still see Blaise and Draco out of the corner of her eye. Draco is laughing happily while Blaise eyes him with that feline stare. He looks as though he is about to tell Draco any minute now about what happened between them, which would be enough to ruin Pansy's life forever.

"Draco's never going to find out if that's what you're worrying about. Blaise's conquests aren't done to earn him bragging rights."

Theodore Nott has materialised out of the shadows. Pansy jumps, sending a bottle of emerald green ink crashing to the floor. It splatters all over Theodore's shoes, causing him to curl his lip in an expression of pure disgust before removing it with a flick of his wand.

"I hate mess," he mutters, "Though evidently not so much as you hate the mess you've got yourself into now."

Pansy feels the blood rushing to her cheeks. "I haven't got myself into a mess, Nott."

"Liar," Theodore yawns, sitting down in a chair opposite her. He drums his fingers on the table, which causes her to notice that he has hands rather like her own, with long, thin fingers and sharp but brittle nails. She realises that it shouldn't surprise her as much as it does: her father and his mother were first cousins after all, so there are bound to be similarities between them somewhere.

"I'm not lying."

"I know exactly what happened, Parkinson, so there's no point in trying to hide it," Theodore drawls. "You know, even though Blaise appears to be the heir of Casanova, I assure you he isn't."

"Casanova?"

"Venetian muggle aristocrat with a bad case of satyriasis," Theodore replies with a slight grin. "Admittedly Blaise's family tend to come from rather further south than Venice, but there are similarities. Either way you don't need to worry; unlike Casanova, Blaise is far to lazy to write down the story of his life."

At any other time Pansy would probably have laughed, but in the current situation it strikes her as far from funny. Instead of giggling she sneers icily at Theodore, directing at him all of the hatred that Blaise deserves to be on the receiving end of.

"Did Blaise strip you of your passion for life along with everything else?" Theodore says, his voice taking on a slightly musical, taunting tone.

Pansy feels her cheeks begin to burn. He evidently knows exactly what happened between her and Blaise, and she doesn't even want to begin to think how he found out about it. Blaise probably gloated to him, completely contrary to what he has just said. The liar. The liar!

"Shut up, Nott. Just shut up!" she shouts.

It's then that she feels someone's gaze burning into the back of her head and freezes, then turns to see Blaise smirking at her. The cold fire she sees in his vampire-like gaze doesn't leave her alone for weeks.