Pansy

They'd missed the rest of third period, all of fourth period, and half of lunch. If Pansy was confused that morning, she was doubly confused by the time dinner rolled around and Graham confronted her.

She and Weasley had talked about all sorts of things, sitting next to each other in the grass, legs slightly touching. He'd talked about growing up poor and an outcast in the pureblood community. She's talked about being the one to stumble in on her father having an affair, about her alcoholic mother, about her distant brother. He got out of her the whole story about Graham, how it was great in the beginning, then how she found letters from another girl and tried to break it off with him at the end of last year. How his moods seemed to get worse and worse as time went. And then Weasley would ask her about this other guy she fancied and she would coyly tell him that he was rather obnoxious, that he drove her mad with how annoying he was, but that she couldn't just quite get him out of her mind. And he admitted that he had a bit of a crush on someone, too, but that nothing would ever come from it.

Yeah, she understood that, for sure. Even if it did make her feel a little jealous.

"So, when were you going to tell me you skipped class again today?"

Graham's voice was cool in her ear. She looked over her shoulder as he took a seat next to her at Slytherin table.

"I didn't skip," she said, staring down at her stew. "One of the Weasley's was being loud in Herbology and got us thrown out."

Thankfully she chose to sit at the end of the table and no one else was around. Graham hummed. "And what about your next class, Pansy?"

Her brow furrowed and she finally looked up at him. His dark eyes assessed her own. There was that little edge of cruelty back in his gaze that she hated. "How did you know I didn't go to fourth period?"

His eyebrows raised, mouth set in a grim line. "I'm Head Boy. One of my duties is filing attendance reports."

Pansy had to stop herself from glancing over at the Gryffindor table. She shrugged and looked back down to her stew instead. "I just didn't feel like going."

"You know I have Umbridge fourth period with Gryffindor," he continued, tone even.

Pansy froze momentarily, the spoon in her hand halted mid-air. She recovered swiftly and sat her spoon down, giving him a confused look. "So what?"

"Well, I couldn't help but notice that you and Fred Weasley were marked absent for Herbology and he also didn't show up for his next class. Like you."

Pansy screwed up her face in what she hoped would pass as pure disdain. "You're kidding me, right?" she said, trying her best to sound incredulous. All she could think of were Weasley's warm arms wrapped around her. She pushed the thought away. "You actually think I would choose to hang around those gits? You've lost your damn mind."

He leaned close and let out an irritated sigh. "You're making me lose my mind, Pans. I just want you to tell me what's going on with you. I want to make it right, I don't want to worry all the time about where you are or who you're with."

"Then don't," she said, voice sharp as a blade.

Graham let out an irritated huff. "Pans, I'm trying, I thought things were fine this morning. I can't handle whatever it is that's hanging over us."

"Well you should have thought about that before you were writing letters back and forth to that Beauxbatons girl," she snapped, voice rising just a hitch. She pushed her bowl away and stood from the table. And damn them, her eyes betrayed her and flitted for just the slightest moment to the Gryffindor table. Both twins were looking her way, as were a couple others who'd noticed her raised voice. She looked back to Graham, cheeks flushed.

He stood and grabbed her by the elbow. "Not in here," he said sternly, steering her from the Great Hall and out into the first floor corridors. With every step, his grip tightened until her fingers started to feel numb.

"Graham, you're hurting me," she said under her breath, trying to jerk her arm away. He only tossed a murderous glare over his shoulder and tightened his grip further. When she dug her heels into the ground, he jerked her forward, causing her to lose her balance and catch herself on his shoulder. She didn't try it again.

After a few turns, heading down a less frequented corridor, Graham threw open a door to an unused classroom, pushed her in, and slammed the door behind them.

Thoroughly pissed at being dragged around, Pansy opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind. But before the first syllable could even form, the back of his hand collided with her mouth and her face erupted in pain.

"Do not ever talk about our relationship in public like that again," he said, voice dark and loud.

Pansy clutched at her mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. He'd struck her with the hand he wore his family ring on. She pulled her hand away, fist clenched, and felt the warmth of blood dribble down her chin.

"What relationship?" she spat. "About three seconds ago, I just became single."

She made for the door, but he stepped in front of her. Pansy's face twisted in fury.

"For someone who hates his father so much, you sure do act like him," she said, swinging her hand toward his face, just wanting to hurt him as he had hurt her, to at least make him move so she could be away from him.

Graham caught her wrist and flung her against the stone wall, knocking the air out of her. He pressed his body hard against hers, the uneven stone behind her digging into her shoulder blades. He pinned her wrist above her. She tried to kick, to scratch, but he only pressed hard against her, catching her other hand and pinning it, as well.

"Who is it?" he demanded, squeezing her so tight she thought he might break her wrists.

"You promised," she snarled, trying to free her arms from his vice-like grip. "You promised you wouldn't hurt me and you couldn't even go a whole day."

"Who is it?" he roared, shaking her. Pansy tried again to kick him, but he pressed even harder into her, digging her into the wall and forcing her up onto her tiptoes.

The anger was making way for the fear. Pansy's mind was reeling, just trying to think of anything to make him stop. "Viktor," she stuttered out. Damn Weasley, mentioning Viktor Krum. That wouldn't do. "Viktor Petrov," she said quickly, thinking of the quiet Alexandre Petrov from Durmstrang who'd sat at their table last year during the tournament. "He's - he's from Durmstrang. I only pursued it because you were talking to that Amelie girl."

It was like all of the fury drained from him at once. He'd gotten his answer, even if it wasn't one he wanted. Graham loosened his grip and she finally felt her feet rest fully on the floor. He blew a long breath out, his cheeks puffing as he released her wrists to rest his hands on his head. He looked at her, brow furrowed, with the same tormented look he'd had that morning. An unspoken plea of desperation, like she was the only one who could fix it.

He looked at her mouth, the split lip, and his face screwed up in pain. He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling, letting out a groan.

"I'm so sorry, Pans, I didn't mean to - let me take you to Hospital Wing."

The adrenaline was starting to wear off and she was suddenly aware that her hands were trembling. "No," she said quietly. "You should have to look at it until it heals."

He looked down from the ceiling with an expression of pure torment. Graham took a step toward her, hand outstretched like he meant to reach for her. But it stalled midair and dropped to his side when she flinched away.

"Are you still going to do rounds with me tonight?" he asked quietly, voice broken in a way that tugged her heartstrings. No. No, she would not let him do this to her. She fought to keep an indifferent mask over her features.

"I have detention," she said, voice void of any emotion. She stepped away from the wall and toward the door, half expecting him to block her path again.

"Let me walk you, at least," he said to her back, a small note of pleading, of desperation in his voice.

Pansy's steps did not falter even once. "No," she said, pushing open the door. If she turned, she knew she would stumble mentally at the look on his face. "I don't even want to look at you right now."

And with that she was gone, leading herself through the maze of the first floor. She was nearly back to the Entrance Hall when she rounded a corner and nearly ran straight into someone. Pansy kept her head down and stepped around them, just trying to get to the loo and get cleaned up.

"Parkinson," said a familiar voice. Pansy drew to a stop and closed her eyes for the briefest moment before exhaling and turning around. There they were, both of them. A quick assessment told her George was on the left, Fred on the right. She knew without asking they'd been coming to find her.

The moment Fred registered the blood smeared across her mouth, his face went murderous.

"Leave it," she said, once again void of any emotion.

Fred looked over his shoulder in the direction she'd come from, as if waiting for Graham to appear. George, who seemed to be sensing his brother was about to go make a scene, cleared his throat.

"Right," he said, giving Pansy a small smile. "Let's go get you cleaned up then, yeah?"

This was how Pansy could tell them apart. They were both crass when they wanted to be, but George was softer spoken, more gentle.

Pansy gave a small nod, but said nothing. Fred only offered a noise of frustration.

"She said to leave it," George said quietly. "Let's not make it worse."

Noticing his twin wasn't paying him much heed, but was rather still looking down the corridor as if itching for a fight, George sighed. Then a wicked smile grew over his face.

"Plus, I think this might be the perfect opportunity to show her the headquarters. Only if she'll swear to secrecy."

This seemed to get his brother's attention. He first looked over Pansy, as if making sure she really was going to be okay, then to his twin. "I don't know, Georgie, you really think we can trust a little Slytherin with something like that?"

Pansy hadn't realized her stomach was clenched until it relaxed. The danger of Fred making things a million times worse had passed. She tried to give them both a teasing smirk, though she knew it had to fall flat on her face.

"Who said I even wanted to see your headquarters?" she asked. Honestly, she didn't. She didn't want them, or rather Fred, to see her like this. She just wanted to go to the loo and clean herself up and come up with some reasonable explanation.

The twins looked at each other and shrugged, then looked back to her. "Too bad," they said in unison. Then they were on either side of her, arms looped through hers and tugging her along.

They climbed two sets of stairs, went down a dusty, unused corridor, then behind a tapestry which revealed a dark staircase heading down. The descent was narrow, so George took the lead, dropping his arm from hers. Pansy followed and Fred brought up the end of the line. But he didn't pull his arm completely away, as George had. Instead he slid his hand down and gripped her gently around the wrist as if making sure she wouldn't fall.

How - how did that one slight movement of his hand make her nearly forget what Graham had just done? How in Merlin's name could she go from furious to afraid to unemotional to a blushing mess in the span of a few minutes. She was lucky for the darkness in the passageway to hide her flaming cheeks. Gods, what was she doing? This was mad - absolutely mad - running off from Graham with the two of them.

Her split lip throbbed suddenly. And with that, Fred's gentle hand around her sore wrist felt good and dangerous and, admittedly, a bit spiteful.

And while she was loathe to admit it, the thought of Fred's murderous face after seeing her made something warm tighten in her chest. Graham very rarely showed affection or any indication that he cared. Fred - or, really, both of the twins - made her feel...safe.

Oy, what a mess she'd put herself in.

The staircase seemed to descend forever, but when they did reach the bottom Pansy felt disappointment as Fred drew his hand away.

The three of them were standing on a tiny landing, barely big enough for all of them. Pansy was mere inches from George and Fred was pressed up against her back. Not that she minded.

"Some light, Fred?" George asked.

She felt Fred shift against her. For a moment his chest pressed firmly against her back and she was sure she'd turned a violent shade of pink.

"Lumos," Fred whispered and Pansy could feel his breath against her cheek. The landing lit up just as her stomach exploded with butterflies.

A mess. A damn mess. That's what she was. Just that morning she'd nearly convinced herself that this was a passing fancy, that Graham really would change and things would smooth over and go back to the way they were before.

Well, he only had himself to blame for the fact that she now had another boy pressed against her back. Another older boy. An older, Gryffindor boy. A Weasley. Surely the taboo of it was the cause of the addictive edge it had.

With a flood of light, Pansy blinked and looked around. It was a tiny landing, surrounded by three stone walls and the stairway they'd just come down.

"Wow, these are some impressive headquarters," she said dryly.

There was a jagged hole in one of the stones at eye level, about the size of a knut. George started to raise his wand toward it, but Pansy never saw what he did because Fred reached around and covered her eyes with his hands.

Pansy reached up and grabbed his wrists, turning toward him as she did. He was so close, as close as the two of them had been sitting side-by-side in the forest that morning. One of his hands slid away, but she held onto his other wrist.

"Entirely juvenile," she muttered.

But, whatever George had done was done. There was a series of grinding noises and Pansy turned around in time to see the stones shifting back to form an arch. George muttered a spell under his breath with a sharp flick of his wand and the torches in the room sprang to life. It was an old classroom, she could see that much from where she stood.

Fred's free hand pulled Pansy's away from his opposite wrist, but he didn't drop it. It was with some mix of horror and delight that she felt him slide his hand into hers, step around her, and tug her into the room following George.

She knew she should have pulled her hand from his, berated him for such an intimate gesture, but she couldn't bring herself to feign pride when her whole body felt jumbled and euphoric.

Especially after what Graham had just done. Oh, he would be so, so livid to see her hand in Weasley's and some dark part of her reveled in that. She was feeling unsteady emotionally, torn between worry of leaving things as she had with Graham and, quite honestly, wanting to snog Weasley's face off.

Fred tugged her along behind him, his palm warm against her own. Desks were pushed against each other, making long tables that had various notes, ingredients, and other supplies scattered across their tops. In the far corner were two giant bed pillows that had been charmed into a much larger size, slightly larger than a single bed each. There were normal sized pillows and messy quilts on each. It looked like the Weasley's crashed here some nights.

"You'd better get her cleaned up and get to detention before Sprout sends Filch after you lot," George said, then nudged his head toward a door with a meaningful look at his brother.

What was that about?

But George only sat down to start tinkering with a few odd pieces of metal and left Fred to tug Pansy's hand and lead her to the door his brother had nodded toward.

Upon opening, Pansy saw it was a storage closet, but there was a small sink in one corner. Fred pulled an old rag from one of the shelves, dropping Pansy's hand and wetting it under the tap.

"Very hygienic, Weasley," she said dryly, but her grin gave her away, even if it made her lip sting.

"We aim to please, Miss Parkinson," he said, wringing out the rag as he tossed her a bawdy wink over his shoulder.

Pansy let out a huff of a laugh, ducking her head to hide the blush crawling over her cheeks. "Ridiculous," she muttered, though the edges of her lips were perked up.

Her eyes were trained on the floor. Merlin, she was in some hidden closet with Fred Weasley standing not even a foot away. Then she saw his feet turn toward her, grow closer. And his hand gently took her chin and tilted her head back up toward him.

Oh, Merlin, her face was hot. She was insane, utterly mad, for letting this...this weasel affect her like this. It was difficult to make herself look at him, especially when he was entirely focused on her mouth.

Gods, she knew it was the busted lip, but she couldn't help the thrill it sent through her. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad.

Weasley's face had returned to it's murderous state, though his hand was gentle as he dabbed the blood away. His other hand was still under her chin, lifting her face up toward his, and she wondered if he could feel how hard her traitorous heart was pounding under his fingertips.

The rag touched a bit too hard on a sensitive spot and she winced. Weasley immediately dropped both of his hands away from her.

"Sorry," he muttered, just as she whispered, "Don't stop."

Gods, what possessed her? Realizing what she'd said, she cleared her throat. "I mean," she started, forcing arrogance into her voice. "I can't exactly go about looking like that, can I now?"

Weasley, who had frozen at her whispered order, seemed to thaw a bit. He let a humorless huff of air escape him. "Do I have permission to break his nose now?" he asked, once again dabbing at her lip with the rag. His other hand stayed at his side, not returning to her chin. Pansy felt a pang in her stomach at its absence.

"Chivalry noted," she said with a small grin. "But probably not the best idea, as the argument started over you."

Weasley again froze, drawing his hand away. "Over me?" he asked, a note of incredulity in his tone.

"Yes," she said, wanting nothing more than his hands to return to her. "But, despite being a loudmouth Gryffindor bully and freckled, ginger Weasley to boot, I've grown a bit fond of you - of you two - and would be loathe to be the source of your murder."

At this Weasley flashed her a smirk and turned toward the shelves over the sink, rustling through potion bottles and tincture jars. "Honestly, Parkinson, it's a disservice of you to think I could be murdered by such a pompous prat."

Pansy's words were stuck in her throat. Apparently, Weasley found the tin he was looking for and turned back to her, playful look on his face as he awaited her reply.

"He really is a prat, isn't he?" she asked quietly. "And a bit of an obsessive psychopath, I think. He...he went through today's attendance reports and put it together that we'd skipped."

Weasley suddenly seemed to be paying a lot of attention to unscrewing the lid on the tin in his hands. "That's a bit much, yeah," he said, eyes turned down. "What did you tell him?"

She felt a smirk cross her face. "That one of the loudmouth Weasley twins got me kicked out of class and it was just a coincidence that we both skipped fourth period."

He lifted his eyes, focused on her busted lip. "Doesn't look like he dropped it."

Pansy gave him a small, awkward smile. "This isn't because of you," she said, gingerly touching her split lip. "This is because I talked about my relationship with him too loudly at the table."

The darkness in Weasley's eyes only grew.

"Don't worry," she blurted quickly. "I didn't want to cause you any trouble or anything. Things got a little rough after he dragged me away and he was demanding to know who this other guy was, so I-I just made a name up. He doesn't think it was you anymore."

Weasley took a step closer to her, dabbing his index finger into the paste within the tin. Pansy held her breath as he gently began to rub his finger over her bottom lip.

"I'm not afraid of Montague," he said tensely.

Pansy looked up at him then, at his unruly ginger hair, his blue eyes concentrating on her mouth, the spattering of freckled across his cheeks and nose.

"But I am," she whispered, suddenly noticing then how close they were, how there was barely any space between them at all.

Weasley stopped moving, his finger idle on her bottom lip. The only thing that moved was his eyes, flitting from her mouth to her own gaze. She felt swallowed up in the blue of them then.

"Parkinson," he said, then paused. "You...you aren't going to go back to him after this, are you?"

That was...not what she was expecting. Unexpected enough that she didn't even try to answer, instead gaping at him for a moment.

His eyebrows drew a bit closer together and there was some sort of weightiness that she didn't understand in his eyes. "Please don't," he said softly, then pulled his hand away from her and quickly put nearly three feet between them. He turned his attention back to the shelf and cleared her throat. Pansy noticed how red his ears were. "Because, you know, can't be patching up girls left and right, we'll run out of supplies."

"I," she started to say. She, what? She'd told Graham she was single, hadn't she? And she certainly didn't want to see him. But the thought of saying it so resolutely to another person seemed a little scary. "I'm not."

Weasley looked over at her and she pointedly met his gaze, though she longed to look down at her feet and hide her hot cheeks.

"Good," he said, giving her a crooked grin.