It'd been two weeks since he had seen her.
Draco, nibbling on his lower lip – that undoubtedly, was her effect on him – sank in the sofa, waiting for her. She should have been here for half an hour. No, scratch that, she should have been here for the past two weeks.
He scoffed at the floating ghost and stubbornly looked away, choosing the mirrors, and facing his miserable look with it. He looked pathetic, holding onto a girl who was clearly adamant on avoiding him. Though, he hadn't a clue why that was the current case.
Checking on the time with a quick tempus, he sat up to stir the boiling asphodel juice, even its smell making him feel dizzy it was that intense. Even if Hermione gave up on their project, he decided he wouldn't. It still meant she was to die if it was not ready on time, and he refused to lose one more life when he was able to help. So much blood had stuck to his hands already; he didn't want to add one more to the uncountable.
Draco supposed that was one of the reasons why he had helped her. It would be a shame to lose one of the greatest minds in their time, Hermione still had a lot to do, a lot of changes to make and a career in politics surely awaited for her. Though it seemed platonic, he believed in her success, even without her knowledge.
So he continued on brewing, one time even calling on sick to add cobra skin to the potion. It had a specific timing, and it turned out it was in the middle of his Potions lesson. Thankfully, Slughorn never asked many questions – especially from the members of his house –, so he got out of trouble before even getting into it.
However, he knew he can't continue all alone – there were too much risk for him to start rebelling even for her sake, and if they didn't finish it in time... He needed to seek her out to tell her what his mother had told him. It was more than important for successfully making Vindico Parea.
Without the door in entire piece – he wondered who was that idiotic to blast the entire thing off its hinges –, it was hard to know if someone was in front of the wards or was ready to break them. Even though he had clearly heard the steps, he didn't waste much thought to them.
Hard metal crashed against his skull, making him headbutt the edge of the cauldron, and that specified the intruder's identity very clearly.
He wasn't disappointed when hearing Pansy's scratchy laughter at the sight of him smoothing the bumps on his head – the front and the back, simultaneously.
Only she would be that big of a hog to throw a weapon of this calibre in the mist, without knowing if anyone was there. He sometimes wondered why he needed enemies if his friends were this sympathetic.
"Nice to see you," he drawled with a grimace, careful of his steps toward the sofa. Damn it, he might have had a slight concussion as he was slightly dizzy. "Care to explain why you here, o-mighty-Pugness?"
If the two injuries weren't enough for his poor self, Pansy even gave him a kick to his sheen for the name of adornment. "That's for your rudeness, Draco," she prodded and perched down beside him, rolling her eyes when seeing the new addition to the familiar couch: the red cushions. Yes, sure they were comfy... but too atrocious compared to the antique furniture.
Truly, it just looked ridiculous.
Nevertheless it did not hold back Pansy to lean against it.
"And what was the former for?" he demanded, burrowing his head in one of the lion-patterned pillows. No doubt, he was trying to suffocate himself to avoid being abused by a wench. Best line would that make in the graveyard, he was sure.
"Draco, you're an idiot," he didn't need to look up to know Pansy was crossing her legs and her arms, condescendingly glancing around the room. She was not that fascinated with design. "I ran into Weaslette. She told me something interesting."
Wonderful.
With his aching head and blurred eyesight, attempting suicide, the only thing he needed was to know more of the redheaded Quidditch disaster's surely life-changing problems involving Potter. He hadn't the time for this and Pansy should have known better.
However, Pansy didn't let him start complaining.
The plus weight lifted itself from near him and looking up, he saw Pansy crouching down for something shiny and with grace she lifted it, only to show it in his face. The flask.
"What?" he asked very intelligibly, confused and surprised beyond all possibility. His eyes threatened to pop out as he studied the artefact, the engravings and patterns of skulls, roses, birds and the big, unmistakable M on the clasp – it was his, the Malfoy heirloom that supposed to be in Granger's possession. "How is it...?"
Pansy flashed him a lethal grin, like a shark ready to devour its prey, "I told you I spoke with the Wealette, didn't I?"
Running his tongue along his perfect, pristine teeth, he waited in anticipation for her to continue.
Of course, it wouldn't be Pansy if she was to give him an easy time for once in his life. She remained in silence. The only thing he heard was the sizzling noise from the boiling asphodel.
"Pansy," he warned, "talk," and then, he commanded.
Her grin widened, showing all her also perfect, pristine and glowing white teeth, the dark maroon lipstick in sharp contrast with them as she finally spoke, "Ginny said I should double-slap you, then, after hearing tid-bits from her, I decided on a triple-slap. That was what you received the moment I stepped through the arch—"
"Door. There was a door here," he grumbled, still confused, but at least glad he didn't need to hear the Weaslette's Potty-problems.
Pansy shushed him, picking up her tirade from where she left, "The thing is, Draco, I thought you were together with Granger."
Now that he hadn't expected.
The hysterical laugh broke free from his lungs as he bent forward out of the absurdity of the statement. Granger would never...!
"And... you, you, Pansy Parkinson thought that to be true?" he guffawed uncontrollably, tears burning his eyes, but he refused to give in temptation. Granger was not on his league, impossible to get and this girl just thought he could get to the unreachable? "This is universally ridiculous."
Pansy narrowed her cold, coal eyes to slits, clearly considering murder, if the lightning reflecting in them were any of indication to Draco. She scowled at him, "Brown noticed you passing notes during classes and started asking around. Theo heard her, and imagine my surprise when the last time I see the both of you together was when you were occupied with shouting the other's head off. The last clue was when she went bonkers over your safety a fortnight ago... She actually went against McGonagall to get to you. All Slytherin assumed that their King found his match, and now it's as well as a fact down in the dungeons."
His laughter quieted down by the time she finished, looking up at her with open mouth, "You actually believed in this? All Slytherin believe in this?"
Pansy confirmed it with a firm nod. That was when his head started to spin, never mind the injuries.
He massaged the bridge of his nose in thought. Something really doesn't fit in this idealistic, utopian reality "Although, there's a mistake," he looked up at her, the silver clouds swirling in his irises, "She wasn't in the Ministry. It was just my mother, and definitely not Hermione."
Parkinson tilted her head to the side looking at him pointedly, but still perplexed by him using Granger's given name so easily. It was new, and the way it rolled from his tongue suggested gentleness.
She shook her head after a few sobering moments to process the information he provided, "No, she must have gone to the Ministry. Her raged rants and screaming were echoing all around, but around ten, she shut it. We assumed she went there because Longbottom was in our quarters, thinking she was weeping in your pillows, to quote precisely," she pointedly looked him in the eyes, "Draco, she wasn't in the Gryffindor Tower that night, nor was she elsewhere in the castle."
He sucked in a sharp breathe, the air whistling between his teeth. He let his head fell on the backrest, looking up at the ceiling, his hands automatically running up to grab on his pale blonde locks and tugging on them to get rid of the frustration. It helped little, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," he chanted, "Fucking fuck."
"What now?" Pansy demanded, her hands finding her wide hips as she played the role of the strict and impatient McGonagall, but in a younger and more enticing version.
"She must have spoken with my mother."
"Which is problem because?"
"I don't know," he confessed, too afraid to think of the opportunity he knew was bound to reveal itself.
If that was the case, he was utterly and throughoutly fucked.
This chapter is for LightofEvolution because I laughed so much on your lecture to Ginny. ;D At least Pansy knew better and believed... even though it's not true (ehe, just not true at this point) School has finally ended, so I'll try to go back the weekly two chapters-system, but I shouldn't promise anything...
Also, I'm up on tumblr, now it's entirely HP related, so if you wish?: aischenna dot tumblr dot com.