A/N: This story was written actual years ago. I'm not super sure how I feel about it. But the flash drive I have all my fanfic saved onto is slowly dying, so I figured I had better get everything I might ever potentially want to come back to off of it somehow.
This is a Draco/Harry fic told through implication and hints until the very end. Hogwarts era, canon-compliant (but ignores the epilogue, because we all secretly know it's realllllllly cliched).
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Wizarding World or these characters. I make no money off of this whatsoever. And trans rights are human rights, full stop.
Slytherin Princess
Pansy Parkinson was in Slytherin for one reason and one reason only: ambition. Sure, there was the pure-blood thing, but the Sorting Hat would let in half-bloods or worse if they had what it took. Pansy definitely wasn't cunning, though. That required mental acuity, the ability to turn on a dime and change your plan, to see patterns and connections. It required a complicated set of mental machinery which Pansy just didn't have. She always thought of her brain as an intricate crystalline structure, dainty and perfect, meant to be admired but not taxed too much.
So all she had was ambition, but she had it in spades. And her greatest, most consuming one centered around none other than Draco Malfoy. As long as she could remember, she had wanted to be a princess. Wizards didn't have official royalty, of course, but Pansy wanted the nice clothes and jewels and adoring public the position would have brought. And most of all, she wanted to live in a fancy, opulent house. Upon her first visit to Malfoy Manor, she decided that the house, with its magnificent vaulted ceilings, antique furniture and gleaming, burnished banisters and lamps was exactly what she had hoped for. And her mother had smiled and told her that Draco was the answer, the way to achieve her goal. So Pansy's biggest ambition was to catch Draco's attention, win his hand, and be able to live like a princess in those marvelous halls.
They were friends before Hogwarts, of course, but Pansy was always too awed by her surroundings when her parents brought her along for a visit (Draco never condescended to visit her house) that she made no headway at all, but once school started she saw her chance.
At first, Draco would have nothing to do with her. The blond boy allowed her to follow him around, sit with him at mealtime and in the common room, but that was about it. She was given that cold, crisp politeness with which he interacted with everybody except for Crabbe and Goyle, who he ordered around imperiously. And- except for Harry Potter. The Gryffindor boy really got under Draco's skin, apparently, so his careful training in etiquette and decorum was no use and Draco was unable to remain aloof like he should have.
Draco spent an inordinate amount of time talking about Potter, too, complaining about his stupid scar and stupid broom and stupid everything, really. Blaise and Theo got tired of it right quick, refused to stay once Draco got onto the topic, but Pansy didn't mind. She stayed, commiserated with him, laughed at his wide-mouth tree frog jokes when everyone else rolled their eyes. And he seemed to appreciate it, Pansy noted with glee. He was pleased that she cared.
The next years passed in much the same way. Pansy would agree with what Draco had to say, she remained the only one who listened when the subject of Potter came up, and yet she remained at arm's length. She tried to bond with Draco over mutual taunting of the Gryffindorks, especially Potter and his posse, and it worked, but only to an extent. She fawned over Draco when he was injured, nursed his arm, loudly decried Hagrid and Potter (because everything was Potter's fault, in Draco's eyes). And still, she was no closer to the Manor.
This changed fourth year, and quite suddenly too. She had had the misfortune of being partnered with Goyle during Charms, and his attempt at a Color-Changing Charm went disastrously wrong as usual, leaving her normally blue eyes a vivid green. Madam Pomfrey could do nothing for it, either, but assured her it would right itself in a few days' time.
Pansy sat dejectedly in an isolated corner of the common room, ostensibly doing Potions work but really reveling in her misery and the fierce satisfaction she got from jinxing Goyle with giant purple boils in retaliation. Draco stormed into the room and threw himself into the chair next to her, seething.
"That Potter... he puts the Mudblood up to it, I know it. Making a fool of me..."
Pansy kept her head down, face hidden by her straight brown hair, eyes trained on her essay, because she couldn't have Draco see her like this; he'd laugh and she'd feel even worse. But she made a soft noise of agreement.
"Mark my words, one of these days he'll get what's coming to him... when that foul Moody isn't prowling around. Bet Potter's got him on retainer- are you even listening?" he snapped irritably. Pansy forgot about her eyes for a split second (delicate crystalline mind, after all) in the face of that tone and whipped her head up so fast it hurt her neck a bit.
"Yes, Draco dear. Moody really is deplorable; he thinks just because he's an ex-Auror he can... are you alright?" For Draco was staring at her, an oddly dazed look on his face. And yet there was something else there, some glimmer of passion that she'd been waiting so long to see. "Draco?" she asked again, and reached out to touch his hand.
He jerked it back, scowling; she still wasn't permitted to touch him. "Yes, yes, fine... say, Pansy, would you like to accompany me to the Yule Ball?"
"Oh, Draco, I'd love to," she breathed. Such a momentous step, and it had come out of nowhere!
"Of course you would," said Draco smugly, smirking all across his pale face as he rose from the chair and swaggered off.
The dance was the best night of Pansy's life. She spent the whole evening on Draco's arm, being led around. She felt like a princess, with Crabbe and Goyle as her honor guard and Astoria Greengrass as her Lady-in-Waiting (even if she did an awful job disguising her jealousy). Draco noticed, of course, and humored her attentions, but Pansy didn't say anything. She did join him in his Potter-bashing yet again; Draco couldn't seem to get over his horrendous dancing and utter lack of concern for his date.
"Now she's run off. Saint Potter isn't so perfect after all... not that it's really surprising; I could have told you he'd be boring as dirt. And no wonder Weasley hangs around with him; he makes that ginger freak look like the catch of the year!"
"No, that's you, Draco," Pansy purred.
"Naturally," he said. "Because I have class and charm, whereas Potter does not. Bottle green, honestly. So last season."
"Mhmm," said Pansy. "Shall we dance, love?"
"Excellent idea, Pansy. Show Scarhead how it's done."
They did dance. And Draco was quite good at it (although secretly Pansy thought Blaise was better; he'd helped her practice a bit so as not to embarrass herself in front of Draco). Perhaps he'd be better if he didn't keep jerking her so they were constantly in Potter's line of sight. But how else was Draco to "show him how it's done?"
Potter left the dance early, to Pansy's relief. She hoped that now Draco would talk about her a bit, or even himself, anything other than Potter. It truly was getting quite old, and the only thing keeping her from snapping was the thought of the glittering chandelier in the Manor's drawing room and how marvelous it would be to eat dinner underneath it every evening.
Draco decided it was time to go shortly thereafter, and walked with her back down to the dungeons, just barely allowing their arms to brush as they meandered up the corridor. He even held out his hand to help her through the entrance.
"I had a lovely time, Draco."
"Of course you did."
"Yes... well, I should thank you for that, shouldn't I?" she suggested, leaning closer.
Draco smirked. "Really, Pansy, what has your mother been teaching you? Of course you should."
"Ah... but there's no one set way to do that, is there?" she whispered, and licked her lips. "So I could-"
"You could do any number of things. But isn't it late? I'm quite sure it can wait until the morning."
"Well, I suppose so, but-"
"Excellent. I shall see you at breakfast, then." And Draco turned and headed towards the stairs, leaving Pansy standing there, sad and humiliated. She had done everything right, the subtle hand on his arm, fluttering her eyelashes, dropping her voice, and Draco had completely ignored her. She might not have been the prettiest girl in Slytherin, but she sure as hell deserved better than that.
"What the hell is your problem, Malfoy?" she yelled.
Draco froze, and very slowly, he turned around. "What was that?" he hissed.
"You heard me! I don't care who you are, you can't just go off and leave me like that without any sort of acknowledgement- or did you honestly not realize? Are you just that stupid?"
He took a step closer. "Stupid? I rather think you're the one who's stupid."
"Maybe I am!" she screeched, and stomped her foot so hard her heel broke with a loud snap. "Maybe I am stupid, for ever liking someone like you."
"Like me? I'm ten times as-"
"Oh, just shove off, Malfoy," she spat, putting all the contempt and venom into the name that she could muster. She turned on her heel to stalk away, broken shoe or not. She just needed to leave; now that her anger was spent, she rather felt like crying. And she was a mess; her bun had started to come undone, so her brown hair was spiking every which way looking like a confused jumble rather than any discernible style.
But she didn't get far, two steps, before Draco's hand closed around her upper arm, rather harshly, and he whirled her around, eyes blazing. She only saw it for an instant before he crashed his lips to hers in a rough, frenzied kiss. She gasped and responded enthusiastically, raising her hands to his shoulders. He brought his free hand up to her hair, frolicking in the mussiness.
It was only when she stepped closer, bringing her chest flush against his, that he pulled back, grey eyes sparkling. "Satisfied?" he barked.
"Very," she said primly.
"Goodnight, Pansy," he said, and abruptly strode down the stairs and towards the dormitories. Pansy just stood there in the middle of the room for the second time that night, only this time her heart was beating wildly and her cheeks were flushed with pleasure. She raised a hand to her swollen lips and smiled before kicking off her ruined shoes and going her own way to bed.
Pansy realized something that night. Draco, as a dynamic and intelligent young man, wanted a challenge. Not some passive little bit of arm candy. No, he wanted excitement, adventure, arguments, yelling and screaming. If he wanted her to be combative and malicious, snide and callous, then she would be. God knows it wouldn't be hard; so many little things annoyed her. So many things about him annoyed her, come to think of it; that superior smirk he always wore, even in the Slytherin dungeon where everybody else dropped a bit of their facade, even among equals as he was; the way he refused to give Pansy a straight answer as to what exactly to call their relationship; and, above all, his incessant talk about Harry Potter.
"I don't care how many times you ask me that, Draco, I am not going to listen to one more story with the words 'Potter' or 'Scarhead' in it. Unless said story is, 'Gosh, Pansy, you're so much more interesting than that Harry Potter character; what would you like to talk about?'"
He narrowed his eyes. "No one cares what you want to talk about, Pansy, that's why you are over here by yourself and everyone else is on the opposite side of the dungeons or in the library."
"Oh, silly me, I thought it was because you are over here and they don't want to get Potter-mania; I've heard it's contagious. You might want to see Madam Pomfrey about it."
"Who's talking about Potter now, huh? Merlin, I can't even have a civil conversation anymore without him mucking things up... and he's not even here."
"Wow, what an astute observation, Draco, I had no idea! Everyone, everyone, guess what?" she shrieked to the room at large, and everyone turned to look at her. "Harry Potter is not here right now! Isn't that something? It means we can stop talking about him for once. Alert the presses, it's-"
Draco silenced her with another rather violent kiss. Pansy noticed and accepted the fact that all of Draco's kisses were violent; the last four had left her with a bloody lip. But she didn't mind (on the contrary; some part of her really enjoyed it). At least he was finally paying attention to her. She began to dream of Malfoy Manor in earnest, imagining the decorations she would put up, the color scheme of cream and azure.
That spring, Draco invited Pansy over to the Manor, of his own accord. She was exultant; her mother told her that this was certainly progress but she needed to tread carefully, things could still go wrong. Pansy would later say that she should have listened, but she didn't really take it seriously at the time. After all, who else was there? Astoria? She was a sheep, and she threw herself at Draco; he liked subtlety, finesse.
They got into a horrendous fight the day Pansy came to visit. All he wanted to discuss were the articles about Harry Potter that had appeared in the Prophet and other publications like Witch Weekly and what Draco should say in the next one.
Pansy had snapped and ripped the Prophet up into thousands of pieces, each tear punctuated by a word. "I- don't- give- a- fuck- about- Harry- sodding- Potter, Draco!"
"Neither do I!" he shouted. "I'm just glad people are finally seeing him for what he is!"
"Yes, Draco, as always, you were right. Who are we, mere mortals, to question your infinite wisdom?"
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Pansy," he said.
"Well, obsessing over the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't suit you."
"I am not- How dare- that- Pansy, you really need to keep your mouth shut about things you don't have the slightest bit of knowledge about!"
"I will if you keep your mouth shut about Potter! You're just jealous because he beats you at Quidditch every time, even with a broken arm, and you couldn't even play when yours got a little scratch on it."
"It was not a little scratch. That thing could have killed me!"
"Please, Draco. I saw it. There was nothing wrong with your arm; you were just putting it on to try to get Hagrid fired." At that one, Draco launched himself forward and pinned her to the wall, kissing deeply. He even growled a little bit, which made Pansy shiver. His hands roved up and down her arms; he never touched her anywhere else, not even her hair. That, frankly, bothered her, but she really couldn't complain when Draco was that good at snogging.
It was only after he'd pulled back, smirking as always, that she noticed she had a bit of paper stuck to her nose. 'Harry,' it read.
That summer Pansy's world fell apart. Her father left her mother for another woman, and without preamble. Pansy couldn't talk to Draco about it; it was a stain on the family's honor and only to be discussed if the other party brought it up first. Which Draco never did. She got invited to the Manor once more, but refused; she couldn't handle the screaming and yelling at the moment.
She did go to visit Blaise Zabini, though. Several times in fact. She could talk to him, because he already knew about her situation; it had been his cousin whom Pansy's father ran off with. He was altogether different than Draco, calmer, more attentive to her, with dark skin and warm eyes. He also introduced her to gardening, something her parents had always paid for someone else to handle. The best thing about it as hobby was that it could be tailored to suit her mood. She could imagine her father's face, or her face, on each and every weed she yanked up, on every stem she sheared. Or she could deal tenderly with the new shoots, the delicate petals of the flowers, in need of gentle care like her own heart did. She could feel the dirt under her fingernails to remind her what was real. So Pansy was able to survive the summer and make it back to school in one piece.
But not entirely the same. No, her hair was naturally the same color as her father's, and she couldn't stand looking at it in the mirror any longer, so she cut it brutally short. Then, for good measure, and with Blaise's approval, she dyed it black, like her mother's hair.
Draco didn't even notice until they were in the carriages, even though she'd pointedly sat next to him during the prefect briefing. There, he hadn't even waited for her to finish asking him about patrolling jointly before swaggering off by himself to find Crabbe and Goyle, muttering about finally beating Potter at something.
"Chin up, Pans, he'll notice soon. And I'm sure he'll love it," Blaise said.
And when Draco finally broke off his Potter rant long enough to register Pansy's presence, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap, kissing passionately again and running his fingers through her hair.
"Told you," Blaise mouthed to her with a smirk when Draco finally pulled away.
Even with O.W.L.s, Draco could barely keep his hands off of Pansy, especially her hair. And she was happy; the Manor was looking closer than ever.
One night, after the Quidditch match with the Gryffindors, Draco sat in the dormitory nursing his wounds from a really nasty fight with Harry Potter. It had even come to physical blows. Pansy, concerned, let herself in and sat down next to him.
"Draco? Are you alright?"
"What? Yes, yes. It's worth it, after all, to get Potter in so much trouble." The room was only dimly lit, so Pansy shifted closer to be able to see his face.
"That boy is dangerous, Draco. I don't think you should mess with him anymore."
He fired up at once. "What, you think he's better than me? Tougher than me? Because I'll always be better than him- and who won that fight today, hm? Who got a lifelong ban?"
"Potter got in more trouble, but you're the one who's black and blue! Merlin, Draco, it's- your bloody lip is busted open! And judging from the way you're sitting your stomach isn't doing too well either."
"It's not my fault if he acts like some wild animal instead of settling things with wands like dignified, civilized people."
"No, but it is your fault you keep baiting him!"
"I do not bait him! He baits me with his wonky face and stupid scar and the way he's such a prat all the time! Thinks he's so great- well, he's not! And someone has to show him!"
"But it doesn't always have to be you! Professor Umbridge is here now, doing just that!" Draco glowered at her, and Pansy sighed. "Fine, I'll stop. I just don't like you getting this upset- see, you've split your lip open again, all your ranting." She raised her thumb to brush the blood away.
Draco gasped and jerked back. "Your- your hand," he stammered. Pansy flushed; she'd forgotten that she had developed calluses over the summer as a result of all the garden work.
"Sorry," she whispered, and got up to leave, but Draco's hand flew out and caught her arm.
"No... I- I like- touch me," he whispered, and Pansy, very confused, did so. She placed her hands on his cheeks and he nuzzled them, kissed them. Then she moved to his arms, rubbing up and down, and he began kissing her again, more slowly than normal. He actually let her slide her hands under his shirt, and he moaned and dragged her closer, hands fisting in her hair.
Eventually she began fumbling with the buttons on Draco's shirt. "Just rip it off," he panted, and attached his lips to her neck. And so she obliged and Draco rolled on top of her, hands roving. He seemed to be trying to find a place to rest them, actually, but neither her hips nor her chest seemed to please him, so he settled on her shoulders. And then he wanted to go further, to make love to her. Although it was surprising it wasn't an unexciting prospect, but what was was the fact that he wanted her face down. She tried to explain to him that he'd only be able to see her hair if he did that, especially with the sheets wrapped like they were, but he only growled and kissed her again and that was that.
After that, Pansy knew that the Manor was as good as hers. She carried herself like a queen, like she was already Draco's wife. Her prestige increased as Draco had her by his side more and more often, kissing her sweetly and even holding hands. Well, except for that one week when she'd spelled her calluses off and he'd wanted little to do with her, but that was easily remedied.
Draco joined the Inquisitorial Squad, and within their House admiration for him grew, and fear in the others. Pansy drank it in, feeling infinitely special to be the one allowed to touch Draco's face and stroke his hair. When he was around, of course; he spent more time patrolling then ever. Pansy would have missed him if it hadn't been for Blaise, who was rapidly becoming her best friend and confidant. She told him things she'd never dream of telling Draco, especially things that he did that annoyed her, and about her long-term goal of gaining the Manor. She could tell that Blaise wouldn't share her secrets with anyone; it wasn't that he didn't know how to play politics or the value of good blackmail, it was that he felt he didn't need to backstab his own House, because everyone else would do it for them.
He visited her at her house several times during the summer holidays, and she his, even though she privately thought it was far too plain, none of the grandeur of Malfoy Manor, and less than a quarter of the size.
Draco, contrarily, didn't invite her over, although they did keep up a regular correspondence. He was gloating over something, immensely proud of himself (moreso than usual, anyway), but he wouldn't say what. But Pansy, delicate though her mind may be, wasn't stupid; she knew the reason. Everyone knew whom Draco's father was in league with.
The very first inkling Pansy had that all was not roses with her world came during the train ride to Hogwarts for sixth year. For some reason, she found herself immensely relieved when Blaise insisted he had no feelings for Ginny Weasley. It confused her; why would it matter to her who Blaise liked or didn't like? Maybe she just got her feelings mixed up; she had been stroking Draco's hair at the time, and maybe she was happy that he didn't think anything of the girl either.
And then her second clue came shortly thereafter, in the carriages. Draco hopped on just as they began to move, and settled himself at Pansy's side.
"Everything alright, then?" she asked, leaning in.
"Bit more than alright," he responded with a smirk, eyes dancing. "Guess who was eavesdropping on our conversation there?"
"Who?" Pansy asked, while Blaise rolled his eyes.
"Saint Potter!" Draco crowed. "Idiot was hiding under an invisibility cloak; I saw his shoe when he came in. Incidentally, you need to be more careful to avoid being followed next time, Zabini."
"It's not his fault Potter is such a dunce, Dray," Pansy said, surprising herself.
"I've told you not to call me that," Draco snapped, and removed his arm from her shoulders. "And stop pouting; it's unbelievably unattractive. Anyway, as I was saying, Potter was hiding in the luggage rack. I hit him with a nice Petrificus Totalis- very satisfying, and then stomped on his nose. I expect he's halfway to London about now, bleeding all over the floor."
Pansy laughed, as was expected, but she couldn't help but be a bit mad that her boyfriend had refused her hand just to confront Harry Potter. Blaise would never have done that, she thought. She spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out why her mind had supplied that comparison so readily.
Mid-way through the year, she found out. It had been coming on for a while, actually, as she spent more time with Blaise and less with Draco as the latter went off to Merlin knows where, but she ignored it. Until one night, after she had actually cried a little in front of Blaise because Draco had brushed her off rather rudely, in front of Astoria Greengrass and her friends, and she overheard a conversation between Blaise and Draco.
"-your business what I do," Draco said.
"I honestly don't give a fuck, Malfoy," Blaise spat. "So long as you have the decency to treat Pansy right."
"I have been nothing but gracious towards Pansy."
"Then why was she up here crying this afternoon?"
"How should I know? I expect it's some silly little piece of gossip or something of the like."
"Maybe you would know if you actually spent time with her!"
"Look, Zabini," said Draco dangerously. "I have important things to take care of, things that need my full attention, time, and effort. Pansy understands."
"Doesn't bloody well seem like it."
"Well, your assumptions are wrong," Draco hissed. "And I'd thank you to mind your own business! She is my girlfriend, not yours."
"You don't deserve her."
Pansy wasn't sure if Draco heard it, because Blaise spoke very softly and in any case Draco made no reply. But Pansy found her heart swelling; Blaise had confronted Draco, on her behalf. He had stuck up for her, like a prince should.
That's when she knew. She loved Blaise, cared for him more than she ever had for Draco. The only appeal he really had was his mansion and the way associating with him made people dote on her like they would a princess. But Blaise made her feel like a princess.
Pansy agonized for several weeks. She still wanted the good life more than anything, the Manor was still beckoning like a siren's call, but she wouldn't be as happy with Draco as she would with Blaise. It was a dead tie until one day a letter arrived from her mother, saying that she hadn't got as much as she wanted from the divorce, that she might have to look into cutting back on expenses, maybe getting a job if things got bad enough. Her mother, who had never worked a day in her life, or indeed prepared for it... so Pansy chose to stay the course, chose Draco. Because Draco had more than enough money to keep her mother afloat, elevate her status even. Besides, she had spent so much of her life dreaming of the Manor that she had no idea what else there was to dream about.
Draco didn't make things any easier. He was spending even less time with her now (something she didn't think possible) and taking Crabbe and Goyle with him, Polyjuiced as girls, when he had an actual girl ready and willing to help him; she couldn't pretend that didn't hurt. And Blaise was being supportive and understanding and just... perfect. It made her head hurt.
She was almost glad when Draco got injured. She could spend time with him without him running away, and it would be time away from Blaise, who hated Draco for what he was doing to Pansy and just his general "being a git," as Blaise described it. And, if she helped nurse him back to health, he would realize just how much he truly cared for her and things would go back to how they were.
Of course, that never happened. Draco was moody and depressed, barely tolerating her presence. This was especially true after he learned that Potter had started going out with Ginny Weasley. At first Pansy thought he was angry that the teen could do something so awful and still be beloved of everyone (as he was), but then she recognized the dark looks for what they were: jealousy.
And then she panicked. Draco couldn't like Ginny Weasley; it was unthinkable. He had denied it himself earlier in the year... maybe he hadn't realized at the time. But it was ruining her plans; she could not let the red-headed wench steal her dreams from her. So she joined in Draco's vilifying of Ginny with extra relish, lavished more attention on Draco than ever before, but the blond didn't reciprocate. He seemed to barely notice her most of the time, staring after Weasley and Potter whenever they passed by.
Draco left the school abruptly one night in early June. He hadn't said goodbye at all, nor gave any hint that he was planning to leave, which upset Pansy to no end. And Snape was gone too... Pansy never truly appreciated the horrors the Death Eaters were capable of until that night, and she wondered whether she really wanted to tie herself to one of them, if Blaise wouldn't be the safer choice.
Assuming Blaise liked her, of course. She had no idea, really, since he was almost the exact opposite of Draco and she couldn't judge his actions in remotely the same way. And she reasoned that if she abandoned Plan A but Blaise didn't want her, she'd have nothing, and so once again she squashed her feelings.
It was in seventh year that Draco really slipped away from her. He was always twitchy, as if expecting an attack around every corner, and his grades suffered horribly. His reputation was in tatters; not even Crabbe and Goyle stood by him. But Pansy tried to, she really did, sitting with him at night and stroking his hair, offering him food and sex and gifts to cheer him up- all for nothing. He didn't want any of it. He didn't want Pansy at all anymore; no touches or kisses or even conversations.
"Draco, darling, what's wrong?" she begged one afternoon when the blond was looking particularly morose.
He looked over at her, stared intently for a second or so, and actually answered: "Potter."
So that was it again. Draco was upset about Potter defying the Dark Lord and making things difficult for his family. Or the fact that he was continuing to get all sorts of attention, even if it was only via whispered conversations and secret nighttime huddles. Pansy was at a loss as to what to do to help Draco, though.
Inexorably, she was drawn back to Blaise. She couldn't stand being ignored forever, and Blaise was always sympathetic. And warm- he had taken to hugging her, holding her close while she was crying or ranting.
One day in mid-April, just after the Easter holidays, she had a particularly bad episode after Draco shoved her, hard, off of his bed just as she was taking her top off, and demanded that she get the hell out of his sight.
She literally ran into Blaise in the hallway. "Pans? What's-" He didn't get to finish, because Pansy flung her arms around his neck and just kissed him, tears pouring down her face. And, miraculously, he kissed her back. She pressed closer, allowing herself to get lost in that sensation, to let her euphoria overwhelm her sadness, to feel the warm lips gentle on hers, sweet, and not the sharp sting of rejection. If she was honest with herself she would also admit that Blaise snogged much better than Draco ever-
Draco. Pansy stopped abruptly and backed away, eyes wide. "I- I can't... Draco is my boyfriend, and I-"
"He hasn't been acting like it for nearly two years," Blaise insisted earnestly. "I've watched you wilting from lack of attention, Pansy... it's not right."
"No... but it's not right to cheat on him, either, Blaise!"
"You know the simple solution, then," he said, voice hard. "Ditch the bastard. You've always been way too good for him anyway."
"Oh, Blaise... I can't!" she cried, tears falling again, and tore past him down the corridor.
Pansy didn't know how she'd be able to handle the guilt. Even if Draco hadn't been the ideal boyfriend, he still was her boyfriend, and she'd been involved with him for all of her life. It was a tremendous betrayal. She couldn't risk telling him about it, no matter how sorry she was, because Draco wasn't one for forgiveness and then she and her mother would be out on the streets; no one else would want her after Draco spread the story.
Not even Blaise. He was avoiding Pansy as much as he could, and whenever their eyes did meet they held pity and even a little contempt. She just hoped he cared for her enough not to go to Draco himself about her indiscretion.
At any rate, it was a wretched Pansy Parkinson who set about trying desperately to make it up to Draco. She would do anything and everything to get rid of the nagging guilt and despair, made worse by the fact that a part of her wasn't at all sorry and longed for nothing more than to repeat the experience.
She saw her chance on the night of May 1, when they were all gathered in the Great Hall for an emergency announcement. It was given by McGonagall and not Snape; the man had fled, apparently. They were preparing to evacuate the school; Pansy was scared. Only one thing could make the professors this grim.
Her suspicion was confirmed mere seconds later when his voice echoed through the room. Draco blanched and began trembling fiercely next to her as his master spoke, demanding Potter.
And suddenly Pansy knew what she had to do. The perfect way to make up for her moment of weakness: she could secure the downfall of Draco's rival, Harry Potter, who had vexed him for all of their school years. And then Draco would have to love her, and her dream could still be realized. If she could beat him to it, show she was just as enthusiastic in her hatred of Potter as he was, she would be forgiven.
She stood up grandly, with the air of a princess making a proclamation, to be sure everyone noticed her, and raised a hand, shaking, to point at the Gryffindor in the middle of the Hall. "But he's there! Potter's there! Someone grab him!"
Instantly hundreds of wands were upon her from all three of the other tables. So they weren't going to obey, so they despised her; Pansy had expected as much. All she really cared about was the reaction of her own Housemates, who were curiously silent, and one Slytherin in particular. She eagerly turned to Draco.
It was at the age of seventeen that Pansy Parkinson gave up her dream of being a princess. The pure disgust and monumental fury that blazed from Draco's eyes got through to even her delicate, crystalline brain: she had lost the Manor, forever. What she had done was unforgivable. But she couldn't understand how it could be so; wasn't this what Draco wanted?
Numbly, she allowed Filch to take her arm and lead her out of the hall, one question running through her mind: why? She glanced behind her; Crabbe and Goyle were there, probably trying to make sure she didn't get hurt, and then Blaise Zabini. Draco was next, and for a split second she got a clear view of his face; he was looking at Potter, immense distress etched onto every feature.
Pansy gasped out loud. Draco didn't hate Potter, and probably never had. He loved him. She stopped in her tracks, incredulous. How could she have missed something like this? It just wasn't possible; Pansy knew Draco, intimately. Very intimately- they'd made love!
Some tiny part of her brain pointed out that that night had been most unusual... their whole relationship had been most unusual, and if she was really honest, utterly unsatisfying.
Finally, finally, after seven years, her delicate crystalline brain connected the dots. All this time, she had been a proxy for Potter... Draco had used her. But no, no... even he wasn't that cruel. He probably hadn't even realized it himself- until the end of sixth year! When Potter had started going out with Ginny Weasley. She'd been right about Draco's behavior; he had been jealous, but of Weasley, not Potter. That was probably when he had realized how he felt himself. And hadn't he tried to distance himself from Pansy, then? Begun slowly pulling away? He had been trying to prepare her, spare her feelings.
Filch yanked on her arm to get her moving again. She walked forward in a daze, mind reeling. What was she to do? Everything she'd used to plan her life had been a lie. She would never be a princess. But even worse, Pansy Parkinson had no idea what she could be.
..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..
A knock sounded on the door to Pansy's flat. She glanced up at the clock; quarter past seven. Blaise wasn't due for another hour and a half, and the Gringotts goblins weren't ones to let employees leave early. So she had absolutely no idea who could be at her doorstep.
Nevertheless, she grabbed her wand and made her way over; you could never be too careful, living alone. She had surprised herself with how well she'd adapted to her new accommodations. Granted, the money her mother won from her father in the appeal of the initial divorce proceedings helped things considerably.
Pansy opened the door, and her jaw dropped. She couldn't help it; this was the last person she'd ever expect to see. The last time she'd talked to Draco Malfoy, on the morning after the Battle, he had been glaring disdainfully down at her.
"I- I'm sorry! I didn't know!"
"You're lucky," was all he said. Lucky Potter is okay.
"Draco, I mean it! I-"
"Good bye, Pansy."
That was the last thing she'd heard from him for three years. She knew Draco wasn't forgiving by nature, and that he was especially relentless when it came to Potter, so she fully expected never to hear from him again. But now he was smiling sheepishly at her, right outside the door.
"Hello, Pansy."
"H-hello, Draco. How are you?" she responded politely, trying to keep her voice level.
It seemed he couldn't hide the grin that blossomed on his face. For the first time, Pansy realized he was wearing dress robes; probably he'd been on a date. "I am simply wonderful," he said enthusiastically. "And yourself?"
"I- I'm quite well... But, I must admit that I'm more than a little bit confused. Why are you here?"
He took a deep breath. "I'm here because... Pansy, I'm sorry."
"What?" The Draco Malfoy she knew would never apologize for anything, even when he really needed to.
"Please don't make me repeat it," he moaned. "Look, I overreacted that night, after the battle. It was just... I was already on edge, emotionally unstable, after all that happened. You were just an easy outlet for my anger. I shouldn't have stormed off. You- you did what you thought you had to."
"Draco... I- I don't really know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," he assured. "Really. This was just something I had to do. I'll understand completely if you have no desire to see me after this, but I... I miss you." Draco's voice was barely audible.
Incredibly, Pansy smiled and tucked some hair behind her ear. "Potter's really good for you," she said.
There was that irrepressible smile again. "Yes, Harry's amazing. I- Pansy, he's asked me to move in with him!"
Draco's excitement was contagious; he had been her closest friend for years of her life. "That's wonderful, Draco! Congratulations."
He full-out beamed again. She had never seen him so happy. "Thank you. Listen, Pansy, regardless of what you decide, I want you and Blaise to have the Manor. No- I don't need it; Harry's place is perfect. But I know you were always enamored with it when we were younger, and- and it's the least I can do, to make up for all the pain I've caused."
And so, at the age of twenty, Pansy's dream came true. She moved into Malfoy Manor, now renamed Verdant Plains, and lived like a princess, with Blaise by her side. Their children were all in Hufflepuff, but she didn't care, so long as they were happy. Besides, they had inherited her delicate crystalline mind, and she knew from experience that Slytherin would be the death of them. It also helped that the young girl Draco and Harry had adopted was in Hufflepuff as well. And so, like princesses everywhere, Pansy Zabini lived happily ever after.