Chapter Fifteen: The Friends' Reunion.

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The door rattled, letting in a swirl of even colder wind under the bottom. Draco decided that the after-dinner Quidditch game was most likely off. Pansy stared at him, her broad cheekbones flushed, her slanted dark eyes snapping, her glossy black hair tumbling down over her shoulders in a more casual style than he had ever seen it. Everything about her seemed closer to the surface, somehow, more accessible than it had in the past. He wondered if that was because of George's influence.

"Pansy…" he fumbled, unsure of what to say, or how to begin saying it.

"Don't tell me; let me guess." Pansy put her hands on her hips. "You thought I was the last person George Weasley would be dating?"

Draco felt a certain shameful relief that this would apparently be the first topic of conversation, at least. "That more or less sums it up," admitted Draco, trying for a light tone. "I'd say that I could picture him with the giant squid more easily, but…"

"How flattering." Pansy's eyes narrowed.

"That's not what I meant," he protested rather feebly. They'd been able to joke with each other so easily once; those days seemed to be past.

Pansy crossed her arms. "Is that why you haven't talked to me since the Pureblood Ball? Because you don't think I'm good enough for Ginny's brother?"

So much for distraction, he thought.

"No, of course not. That's not it at all."

"Why haven't you, then?"

"Why didn't you tell me about George Weasley?" Draco countered.

"I…" Pansy glanced away. "Look, it's not as simple as you think, all right?"

Draco stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Because you were ashamed to let me know?"

Color rose in her cheeks like a sudden flame. "No! There are other reasons, and they're to do with my family—but that's another story. But what about you, Draco, were you, are you ashamed of Ginny?" she whispered.

"Never," he said without thinking.

She put her hands on her hips. "Then why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell anyone? Why have you kept it a secret?"

Draco sighed, feeling tired suddenly. "Pansy… I can't explain. You must know…" How could he finish the sentence? You must know how it is for people like us? He wasn't entirely sure that she did. The Parkinsons were an old pureblood family, but they had never demanded the same level of utter emotional repression that the Malfoys had always done.

"Perhaps for the same reasons you told no-one about George," Draco said in a very low voice. "Perhaps not. But not because I was ashamed of her; not because I don't… care for her. Can you understand, Pansy?"

"I suppose I can," she said, her face softening. "A bit, at least. Poor Draco."

"I don't need your pity." He did his best to sound lordly, perfectly aware that he was in what Ginny had always called upper-class twit mode.

"Oh, I don't feel sorry for you in the least." Pansy half-smiled and smacked his arm. "

"That's enough!" Draco winced. "You don't need to convince me how hard you can hit, Pansy. I've known that since you attacked me when we were both five years old and I said I wasn't going to marry you when we grew up."

Her smile widened. "And it's a good thing we didn't, Draco, don't you think?"

"I do indeed." He smiled in return, and he knew that this was a friend he had missed.

"Did you really not have any idea?" asked Pansy.

"I learned today that he was with a former Slytherin, which narrowed down the candidates. But I never would have guessed it was you." He hesitated. "So how is your family taking this?"

Pansy's fingers played with the fastenings of her coat. "Not well. I think they're a bit resigned to it now. But Dad made me promise not to tell anyone else until—well, until our problems are over with, one way or another, and I agreed."

Draco nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. The Parkinsons had never been seriously involved with Voldemort, never truly in the inner circle, but they had been assigned blame anyway. Their case was going through the Wizengamot and would be decided within a month. Criminal prosecution was unlikely, but their home and assets might very well be seized.

"If George and I can survive this, we can make it through anything." Pansy's smile had still not left her lips.

"How long have you been together?"

"Six months. Yes; I know, it's a record for me."

"But is he… er… right for you?" Draco asked a trifle dubiously.

Pansy laughed. "He's probably all wrong, Draco; I do realize that. But he's very, very special. That's all I can really say. We've had to keep it a complete secret, but I hope you understand the reason why a bit better now."

"I do. I'm, ah, sorry about that. And don't tell me that history has never recorded the apology of a Malfoy!" Draco grimaced slightly. A thought struck him. "If you and George have been together for six months, then that was two months before the Pureblood Ball this year."

She nodded. "Just as you were with Ginny for the same amount of time before the Ball. We were each other's beards, I suppose, but neither of us knew it."

"If I helped you at all, then I'm glad," Draco said sincerely. "But what I can't understand is why I didn't figure it out without being told. My sleuthing skills ought to be better than that."

She smiled. "You've were a bit distracted by Ginny, weren't you? More than a bit? And you have been ever since."

"I certainly have," he admitted.

They stood in a companionable silence beneath the stairwell, hearing George and Ginny talking in low voices at the far end of the back hall. Perhaps he and Pansy could truly be friends again, thought Draco, as they'd been during their childhoods, before adult expectations were forced upon them.

"It's hard, isn't it, loving one of the Weasleys?" Pansy asked.

Draco could only stare at her. "Er…"

"That's all right. You don't need to answer that question yet." She glanced at Ginny and George. "I suppose it's almost time for Yule dinner, which means that the big introduction scene can't be far off for me. How did it go for you?"

Draco smirked. "Molly Weasley led me into a room filled with portraits of Potter, if that gives you any idea. It went downhill from there."

Pansy shuddered. "Was this a good idea? Coming to the Burrow at all, I mean? George wanted me to be here, but I just don't know."

"Maybe it isn't. I'm not at all sure whether I should be here, either. But it's too late now."

"Dinner should be interesting," Pansy muttered.

"That may be too mild a word. We can count on George and Ron, but I sincerely hope that the rest of the Weasleys won't attack us with the carving knife."

"Yes, I'd rather avoid that as well," Pansy said dryly. She twisted her fingers together in an uncharacteristic gesture. Draco thought that he had never seen his childhood friend looking so uncertain.

*I just know that I'll end up regretting this,* thought Draco. "I'll go in first, with Ginny. How would that be? You hang back a bit with George."

Pansy's eyes widened "I've never known you to be so brave."

"Oh, do dry up," he muttered. "It comes from hanging about with Gryffindors too long, I have no doubt. But at least Mrs. Weasley already knows that I'm here. I'll smooth the way, and then you can come out."

TBC…

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