CHAPTER FOUR: The Library

Pansy Parkinson hated everything. She might've somewhat enjoyed Potions, Charms or Transfiguration but truly despised Herbology. She was aware that knowledge of this subject is more than essential if you don't intend to die in an idiotic way, but she hated it anyway. She was replanting a weird thing with red fruits (unmistakably poisonous) next to Nott and incredibly pale (probably out of deadly fear) Ravenclaw boy.

'You know, scowling won't make this subject any better for you,' noticed Theo and when she looked at him, she discovered that his plant didn't decide to attack him with its fruit as hers did.

'Wow, look at you, being all positive,' she barked when her plant threw another fruit in her face. Luckily, it didn't smash – Professor Sprout said it left black spots that itched terribly.

'If you focused on the lesson instead of a certain blondie who's paying even less attention than you are, you could've quite enjoyed that.'

Her eyes drifted again to a white-blond hair at the other end of the classroom, only to see him digging in the pot and not really doing anything else.

'I told you, it's not something for you to worry about,' Nott broke the silence again.

'So what? It's not helping that you don't even joke about it. It just makes it more serious,' she replied absently, her eyes still focused on Draco.

'It's not a matter to joke about.'

'The thing is, Theo,' she put the shovel away and took the watering can. 'Your sense of humour is as dark as it gets. How dark it has to be if you're not having a laugh about it?'

'Please, just let this go,' he pleaded quietly. She looked at him in surprise, but before she could say something, the plant hit her with the red fruit again. She realised she must have used too much water and groaned.

'Well, I can't, can I? Even if I wanted to, I –'

She stopped before she could reveal too much, but Nott already looked at her with concern. She hated that look. She didn't need anyone's pity. That only reminded her of her powerlessness and made her feel even worse.

'Just sod off, would you?' she spluttered. 'It's not your secret to protect, anyway.'

She decided it was better to attack him like that before he could touch her arm compassionately or do something equally stupid.

'I'm afraid that's exactly what I'd promised to do,' he said with a sad smile.

'Oh, please, Nott, you're scaring me. Isn't the time to make a bad joke?'

'Are you suggesting that if I continue on brooding, I'll turn into Snape?'

'I'm so disappointed,' she sighed as she was trying to feed her plant but the soil kept on spewing out every kind of fertiliser with a little help of the roots.

'That I've heard a lot,' he whispered, and she stopped short in her effort of feeding, but did not look directly at him.

'Well, that's sad,' she replied carefully. 'Your parents?'

'What, and yours not? Pure-blood supremacy and Slytherin inheritance might be something to be proud of, but... They don't really make the best parents, do they?' he said quietly so that no one else could've heard him. 'Not when we're talking about – well – fanatics of sorts.'

'Don't tell that Milicent,' she advised, pointing at her black eye with her tiny shovel. 'But I guess you're right, we don't have an easy time. And Draco really is trying to live up to his parents' expectations, isn't he?'

'Yeah… But you're not getting anything else out of me.'

'We'll see,' she smirked. 'Either way, you're smart, intelligent and ambitious, you don't need praises from your parents to know that.'

He smiled fixedly. 'I guess I don't, but I could use them,'

'We all would… But sometimes waiting for them is just holding us back.'

'Look at you, Parkinson, getting all philosophical,' he mocked.

'...And he's back,' she said with a genuine smile.

After she had managed not to kill the plant and not get poisoned at the same time, she went straight to the library where she was supposed to meet Blaise. She decided to write an essay while she was waiting, but her mind kept wandering off the topic.

Nott didn't tell her anything she didn't already know, but somehow hearing it from him, made her feel closer to the truth. Ambition might be a curse sometimes, especially if you're in a similar situation to Draco. Impressing the Dark Lord would mean getting his parents out of trouble. And were they in trouble. It wasn't all about impressing, he also obviously cared about his family enough to get himself wrapped in this horrible situation, whatever it was.

She tried focusing on the essay but failed. She was still so disappointed that she had to figure it all out by herself – why not just trust her?

'I just hate everyone,' she whispered to herself.

And that was the reason why she didn't feel jealous that often. It's happened once or twice when she saw Draco talking to Daphne. Or to her beautiful sister, Astoria. But there were times when she felt it even when Cho Chang or this blood traitor, Ginny Weasley, were around.

But what she felt now was slightly different. She wasn't jealous because Draco could like someone else, which seemed quite shallow at the moment. Right now, she was insanely jealous that she wasn't the one who he'd put his trust in. And that was much more painful than she could've imagined.

Once again, she tried focusing on the essay for Ancient Runes. She unconsciously started tapping her quill at the edge of the desk.

'Oh, would you stop?' shouted none other but Hermione Granger. Pansy smirked almost automatically.

'Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting you?' asked Pansy sweetly, tapping her quill two times louder than before.

'I don't know if you've processed it with that little brain of yours, Parkinson, but this is the LIBRARY!' hissed Granger which only made Pansy laugh.

'Oh, well, since SOMEONE is shouting here, I'm not sure if this is the LIBRARY after all.'

Granger slammed her book shut, got up and headed for the exit with chin held high. Pansy rolled her eyes.

'You're becoming too predictable, Granger! It's getting boring,' she called after her, luckily not loud enough to attract Pince's attention. Granger threw her last furious glance and disappeared behind the door, leaving her quite pleased with herself.

'You're bonding, I see,' she suddenly heard a deep voice. Blaise appeared out of nowhere. When she turned around, he already sat next to her, apparently amused.

He glared confidently at her for a moment.

'Well, you look like someone on a mission,' she broke the silence.

'And you look like someone who can't focus,' he replied immediately.

She sighed with irritation.

'You obviously have a brilliant idea, so let's hear it,' she urgently waved her hand at him.

'My ideas are always brilliant.'

'If it makes you spit it out faster, I'll just smile and agree,' she promised.

'Well, I don't see the smile,' he said with a nasty grin.

'Blaise, I swear to Salazar –'

'Okay, okay,' he agreed, automatically straightening up. 'Firstly, we must find them when they're alone. And we have to make sure they will be alone for a while – otherwise, it'd be too dangerous. Secondly, they're obviously stupid, but not stupid enough to ask them about it directly. So, I think, we just need to act as we know perfectly well what Draco's doing.'

'Well, what if he'd told them that we don't know? He might've mentioned that nobody else knows or something like that.'

'Do you have a better idea? It is as brilliant as it gets,' he retorted. 'We've got a quidditch practice tomorrow night. It's your chance.'

'And here I thought you'd give me a forever-long lecture about cooperation, Zabini.'

'This is cooperation. I talk to Draco and make sure he won't ditch quidditch again – and you talk to Crabbe and Goyle.'

She just nodded in agreement.

'Just please, don't fuck this up, alright?' he added patronisingly.

'Were you always such a prick or is it just this teamwork-thing?'

'I'm serious.'

'So am I.'

They seized each other up, but Zabini quickly realised that Pansy was just bantering. After a moment he smiled and got up from his seat.

'Good luck then, Parkinson. Trick them Slytherin-style.'

'And you do you, Zabini,' she said with a hint of a smile. She went back to writing the essay that she'd been working on for three days straight already. The more she thought about that mudblood who'll get a better grade either way, the more furious she was getting. But at least now she had a sense of hope. A plan, which hopefully would answer some questions. And Pansy Parkinson always got the answers she wanted.