Book 3: Astoria Greengrass and the Legilimens of Hogwarts
Song rec: "Let's Talk About Your Hair" by Have Mercy
Note: Pansy uses the "r"-word in this chapter.

It had been six months and two weeks since the Dark Lord's order.

Draco had once not known what panicking felt like. He once knew nothing beyond the beautiful grounds of the Malfoy Manor. He never panicked back then. Not once.

It was February now. February.

He was always tired, always on edge. He had, in the past, been able to find the fun (or at least the goodness of troublemaking) in any situation. All he wanted was to know that his family was safe and to go to sleep. The pride that had originally called him to this duty had wavered. He was desperate. His plan to kill Dumbledore required assistance from other Death Eaters. To bring in the dogs, Draco was relying on a Vanishing Cabinet in that secret room in the castle. The cabinet acted as a direct portal to Knockturn Alley. This plan was either out of cowardice or a realistic appraisal of the old man's strength.

How did it get to be February?

Draco had been working on the Vanishing Cabinet since five in the morning. He could barely keep his eyes open, and it had been a fluke that he remembered to attend Apparition lessons. It was not with any affability that his friends greeted him there.

"There you are," said Crabbe. "Listen, I know you think you're a bigwig now, but that don't mean you need to wake us before the sun's up by leavin' the dorm. And I'm sick of you telling us to guard that room every afternoon. I have a life, too."

"I don't have much choice at this point, Crabbe. Anything in your life isn't going to add up to the results of this operation."

He had not even got his point across to Crabbe before McGonagall started bitching at him to stay quiet whilst the Apparition instructor talked. His whole graduating class was there, but naturally, she managed to single him out. With Draco's lack of sleep and irritability, he had no clue if he'd even be remotely successful at Apparition. With his current academic luck, he'd likely Splinch himself and lose a few fingers. But he wasn't going to have much chance to learn to Apparate otherwise and tried to bear the lesson. Crabbe had the nerve to continue to harass him — him, a Death Eater — about the details of his mission. If that wasn't enough, Harry Potter sneaked up on him, having eavesdropped as much as anyone's guess.

"I tell my friends what I'm up to if I want them to keep a lookout for me," Potter commented.

That damned voice at a time like this was enough to send Draco for his wand, but because the world revolved around Potter, the instructor started talking again right on time, forcing everyone, and Draco, to position themselves to Apparate. Draco would have liked to see Potter's face Splinch right off his head.

The instructor's entire career had evidently been based in giving horrible directions, because nobody, not even Draco, was able to Apparate on the first couple of tries. Ernie Macmillan, an annoying Hufflepuff, fell flat on his face on his second try, but since he wasn't near other Hufflepuffs, there was a chorus of laughter.

"Yikes. Are you all right?"

The voice caught Draco's attention in the crowd, but it turned out to be Daphne Greengrass's. It was surprising how much she sounded like her sister when she was saying something nice. Daphne helped Macmillan to his feet and spoke along the lines of nobody else being successful. That was the sort of thing friendly people did, and Daphne wasn't even friendly. Those two were strangers… How much thinner was the bond between Draco and his friends if they never did anything like that for one another? His mood soured further. The people he hung out with liked his money. Whenever the Dark Lord was ready to take over, they'd cling to Draco for status. Acts of genuine kindness? Forget it.

Some Hufflepuff girl from across the room had succeeded in Splinching her leg off of her body and let out piercing wails, both up until and long after the professors healed her. Those teachers wouldn't be nearly as quick to help Draco if it came to it.

"Did you see the look on her face?" Pansy laughed from in front of him. "Oh, Draco, what's wrong? You know we'll Apparate before the rest of these clowns do. Class is twelve weeks."

"Yeah, I know."

She tailed him all the way to the common room, which wasn't unusual for her, but Draco soon realised that he had attracted the usual crowd. Blaise was whispering to Goyle about something, and Pansy was pretending that she wasn't listening. Yet when Crabbe gave her a look, she gave a furtive nod. They weren't about to hold an intervention if it wasn't on Draco's terms. No way. If they wanted to know so much about the Dark Lord's mission, they shouldn't have spent so much time gossiping amongst themselves.

"You lot want to know so badly how it's going?" he confronted them before they had a chance to ask.

They bunched together in the common room. Draco felt like he was in a Quidditch huddle. It might have looked suspicious to other students, but they weren't going to dare to get closer.

"I understand why you're curious. I've told you I've got a job. I guess you think it's my responsibility to update you. Well, you know what? I don't get updates from my boss. I just know," he hissed, smacking his marked arm. "I'm not some number-cruncher at the Ministry. Apparently I've overstepped my boundaries by asking for a few favours here and there."

He looked directly at Crabbe and Goyle, who finally looked at their feet.

"That's not it," Pansy cooed. "I mean, not for me. I actually wanted to know if there was anything I could do…"

"Yeah: don't worry about what I'm doing."

"It's rather hard not to," Blaise cut in. "I mean, some days I feel like you've lied to us about the whole thing. Other days I feel like you're really out to kill someone."

Pansy caught a scent of those words like an animal hunting for meat.

"Well, I know which one you'd prefer," Draco finally snapped at her, but her only response was to explode with giggles.

Pansy's laughter was a broken instrument Draco never wanted to play again. It was like she was laughing at his struggle with the mission. Comparing him to Rabastan Lestrange. Maybe neither of those assumptions were true, but she was sick in the head no matter how he looked at it! Draco wanted out of this corner where his so-called friends had congregated and were still talking at him. He wanted out of this room. He wanted to be alone. Pansy finally stopped her squeaky whispers when the common room door opened.

"Oh, look, it's flat-chested Flora and her charm-retarded friend!" she said to draw attention.

Draco saw Flora draw her wand. Flora Carrow was not the type to care if the whole group got a hit of what she planned for Pansy. Draco had never been sure about Flora's true nature, and he wasn't about to get in a fight that could leave him with a time-consuming detention sentence or a hex all over his face. He did not have to make a move, though, since Astoria had gently placed a hand on Flora's wand to lower it. The two girls walked arm in arm to their dorm, whispering. They had more important things than Pansy. Yet in the other corner of the room, Heather Thatcham and Tracey Davis glared at Pansy. She had successfully become the centre of attention, thus compromising Draco's privacy. Daphne Greengrass, appearing from behind a bookshelf, gave Pansy a disappointed look and took off behind her sister to the dormitories.

Draco's group finally dispersed, with Blaise finding a place to read, and Crabbe and Goyle positioning themselves by the fire. Since Theodore had been in the library, Draco could finally be alone in his room. All he needed was a small break. He would get back to work on the Vanishing Cabinet, for his life depended on it, but a small break away from the thing was not much to ask for…

Pansy had trailed behind Draco on the way to his dormitory. He felt his feet drag, like his body was so rife with exhaustion and anger that any weight would literally halt him. And did she ever pull on his hand with such weight.

"Pansy," he said through his dry throat. "Go do your homework or something."

"Are you serious?" she said. "Homework is like, the opposite of what I want to do."

"I don't really care what you do," he said, pondering how many more steps he had to his pillow. "But I'd like to be alone now."

"Don't you think you've been alone enough? I mean, we hardly get to talk anymore. I was thinking we could at least, you know… be alone together."

Her face was no more pleasant to look at than the dreadful length it'd take for him to get down the hall. She was still flushed, her eyes darting left and right, her clutch loosening only to mimic the tenderness she simply did not have. He knew why she was doing this now. Why she had waited all this damn time to put it back on the table. The last time she wanted some, she had been reading all sorts of things about Death Eaters. This time, she was exhilarated to hear about him being one. It turned her on. That was the ugly simplicity of every little message she was sending him as she smiled at him in the hallway.

"I want you to go," he said, freeing his hand with some effort.

The motion had been much more dramatic than he had planned, and she got very tense.

"Are you missing what I'm saying, Draco? We've been dating a long time. You mean you really don't wanna—"

"I don't want anything from you if you're going to be like this," he answered jadedly.

She froze. She might have shivered.

"Draco…"

"Draaaaco," he mocked, the anger suddenly fuelling him. "What's that word mean to you? Is it just something you say?"

"Draco, no, I'm sorry—"

"Ah! There it is again! Well, I've got another name you can use, Pansy. It's Rabastan."

"Rabastan? What about Rabastan? Draco, what's going on? I'm so sorry I upset you. I'm so sorry…"

"I'm sorry, too, because I've got to break the news to you. I know Rabastan personally, and he's not as hot as he is in the pictures you have in all those books," Draco spat. "He's ugly as hell, in and out. I don't know why you're so obsessed with someone who tortures and kills people."

"Oh… oh my God…" she said with her hand over her mouth.

She was starting to cry. Draco was losing track of his goal. Maybe it had been to make her cry after all. Something to prove that she had some functional mode besides giggly, horny, and absolute bitch.

"It's a joke," she lied. "The stuff about Rabastan was a joke. With Millicent. An inside joke! I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have joked about someone you know. Draco, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. I won't t-talk about that stuff anymore."

She was sobbing. Draco wondered how many peepholes in the hallway doors had people behind them, watching. People always liked to watch trainwrecks. Draco shook his head because he realised he felt nothing watching her cry.

"I don't want to talk anymore, either," he shrugged. "You act like I'm the world to you, but you treat me like a trophy you've — you've got to dust off every so often. Not someone you actually care about. I get it. I do get where you're coming from. You want me for my money and my bloody snake tattoo!"

"That's not true! That's not true!" she cried, but she had nothing else to say.

"You want my money so bad? I'll just pay you to leave me the hell alone."

There was a thump as Pansy fell against the wall to cry like the spectacle she was. She wasn't sad she was losing him; she was only sad that she was losing. Draco jinxed the lock on his dormitory door shut and took a nap in peace.