Better Be Slytherin
IX
Friendly Kisses
That night in the common room he told everyone – Theodore and Blaise lost interest in the Inquisitorial Squad idea quite immediately despite Draco telling them in the most enthralling way he could, which rather annoyed him. They really needed to sort out their priorities – why sit alone and read when you could actually do something and make things better!
Pansy, however, was in on it immediately, which pleased him, and she told him enthusiastically she would try to persuade some of her friends as well. Warrington, Bletchley and a couple of the older chaps seemed interested as well. Draco felt very content and merry that night. He'd manage to bring over a number of people – Umbridge would be satisfied, he reckoned.
Pansy was hanging off his arm all night and he enjoyed her attention. Now that he was in centre of attention in the Slytherin common room it seemed she liked to show she was his counterpart.
When they were on their way to bed that evening, after a casual hug before going off into separate dormitories, she felt Draco placing a peck on her head. They broke the hug and she hastily glanced at him, shocked, before they went down to respective dormitories. She was frowning all the way down the staircase. She did not know why he did it and for some reason her heart was beating faster. It's only because we've become much better mates in the past couple of months, she told herself. Only because they liked hanging out together, as friends...
Theodore didn't like Umbridge. Not just that, he disliked her. Strongly. He found Malfoy pathetic, trying to persuade them all to join her cause. Theodore would certainly not strut around with fake authority and do her bidding like Malfoy. Oh, Theodore thought and cringed. Malfoy had potential, why would he waste it on silly matters such as this?
His thoughts were interrupted by Pansy's shrieking laughter from the back of the classroom. He turned around automatically, annoyed. She was clearly enjoying something Malfoy was telling her sniggering. A few other students turned around at the shrill sound, but Pansy did not seem abashed – he would've guessed she only enjoyed the attention, whether good or bad, judging from her slight smirk over the classroom.
Both of them were doing his head in, especially today for some reason – perhaps he was just tired. Neither of them were exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer, yet they seemed to slide through life silver-spoon in mouth. Everything Theodore struggled for uprightly and honourably, they received by plain manipulation. Theodore had O's in every subject at Hogwarts – even Arithmancy and Ancient Runes which most students did not even dare to take on, because he spent all of his time reading (not that he was complaining, it was his favourite activity) while even Pansy Parkinson would move on to advanced Potions next year because she used her position as a Prefect and made some younger student do her homework continuously for her. Malfoy was the same. Not to mention how neither of them were pleasurable or nice people yet still had more "friends" than himself.
One day he would show them all.
One night a couple of days later they were studying in Draco's dormitory like any other night. Well, studying a little at least – they had a huge essay on the Giant Wars in History of Magic until that Friday and he had only just begun. Pansy was entertaining him as usual, while he was trying to study.
She was talking about everything that had happened lately – about Potter's article, Umbridge and the Squad, while he only half-listened, actually really wanting to get the essay finished so he could get some sleep, and somehow she came upon the matter of whether Potter and Dumbledore were mad or not and whether the Dark Lord then had returned or not. Draco stiffened.
"What do you think – is he off his rocker?" She glanced at him, and he looked away, but not able to hide his small smile. He always enjoyed knowing more than others. Her eyes narrowed.
"What do you know?" She had a curious, almost excited smile on her features.
"About what?" Draco frowned, he really wasn't as clever as he made himself out to be, in Pansy's opinion.
She rolled her eyes, "about the Dark Lord of course!"
"Shh!" Draco hissed automatically. But the dormitory was empty except for them (and the fifth year Slytherin boys' dormitory wouldn't be the most dangerous place to discuss such things, anyway), which Pansy made clear by motioning to the room with raised eyebrows.
"Well?" Pansy went on.
Draco sent her a mysterious look, hint of a smirk on his face.
"What?" She raised her voice, curious and demanding. "You should tell me!"
"Why?" He sneered. He could read her like a book - it irritated her. He knew she hated not getting her way.
"Er, because…" She began, exasperated. But she obviously couldn't find a good reason. "Why shouldn't you?"
"Err, because you're not a Death Eater," he said, slightly derisively.
She snorted. "And you are?"
"I didn't say that."
"I still think you should tell me," she muttered and turned back down to her essay.
Draco smirked, not looking up from his own. "Leave it."
Pansy groaned. They were silent for ten minutes or so, she was pouting over her essay, and he felt amused over her reaction. He knew he couldn't possibly tell Pansy anything, right? She was not inducted – well, neither was he, a voice inside him said, and yet his father told him plenty. Well, not plenty – perhaps Draco made it out to be more than it actually was, but he knew some. Anyway, all he knew was that the Dark Lord was back. Pansy agreed with his views anyway, so what was the harm in telling her that one thing, really?
"Fine."
Pansy looked up and her eyes met his. When she had understood what he meant, she gave a little squeal as she clapped her hands together. Draco rolled his eyes at her, and she moved closer, beaming with a smug look on her face.
"I knew you'd crack," she smirked. "You can't deny me."
Draco sniggered, looking away. "Yeah, right." He couldn't think of anything wittier to say than that.
"Tell me!" she said excitedly.
"Haven't your dad told you anything?" he asked, putting his essay aside.
She frowned. "My dad thinks it's pathetic following a half-blood around like that," she said simply. For a second he did not know what to reply. She had openly divulged that her Pureblooded father opposed the Dark Lord – her father would most definitely be approached by the Death Eaters about joining: he was the perfect candidate. This information was dangerous to be tossing around. He wondered if she was just speaking without thinking like usual or if she said it because she trusted him.
"Does he now?" replied Draco slowly. He wondered what Mr Parkinson said in the privacy of his own home, about the Dark Lord, and probably about Draco's father as well – Mr Parkinson and his dad were Hogwarts acquaintances, only Mr Parkinson had never joined the Death Eater despite his blood-status and his views about dirty blood. He had chosen a path within the Ministry and was now a high-ranking Ministry official and it was no secret that he looked down on Lucius Malfoy for reasons Draco did not fully apprehend. Draco wondered whether Mr Parkinson had spoken badly about him as well.
"Anyway, Potter's right. The Dark Lord returned in June and tried to kill him. And succeeded in killing Diggory."
"Really?" she seemed a little surprised.
"Yes, really," he said, leaning back on the bed. Pansy looked down into her lap, pondering this.
"Then why's the Ministry saying all those things about him and Dumbledore?" she asked, eyes narrowed.
He shrugged. "I dunno, really. But that's just in our favour, because He doesn't want anyone to know yet."
Pansy looked up. "Right. So what does he want to do?"
It felt odd having this conversation in such a casual manner with her. "I don't really know," Draco admitted.
There was another very long silence – Pansy seemed to be pondering all of this in her mind, and they continued studying. After a while, it seemed like she had stopped thinking about it, because she started crooning on the latest hit off the WWN. He would not have expected her to take what he had said so casually. But he was glad she did. He kept on reading in his History of Magic book, to try to decide what to write down next, to go on with the essay.
"Sod it, can you remember which year it started?" groaned Draco a little while later, interrupting her low singing, or rather mumbling.
"I haven't the foggiest," Pansy mumbled.
"My notes are contradicting themselves," Draco went on.
"Yeah? I'm sure you can ferret it out, Malfoy," said Pansy teasingly, knowing full well he had an odd problem with ferrets since his fourth year, not looking up from her own roll of parchment.
"Hag," Draco sniggered, sending her a look. She laughed.
"Can't remember whether it was 1874 or 84. It says 84 here," he showed her a part of his parchment, "and I do think I remember Binns saying something about 84, but at the same time, you know how his voice always tend to make me fall asleep… And it says 74 here. It might've been 1784 actually…"
Pansy laughed loudly. "That there doesn't make one bloody bit of sense."
He pulled his essay back and snorted: "Yes it does, if you're not the dumbest person in all of Britain."
Pansy reached out and hit him immediately, laughing. "Oh right, I am – that's rich coming from you actually! You're the one who couldn't figure it out with that pathetic excuse of a brain of yours…"
"Right!" he gave a snort-laugh and pushed her away. "I would hit you back, but I don't want to kill off any more of your brain-cells, don't think you can handle losing any more…"
Pansy laughed. "Sod off! Yeah, thanks a bunch—"
"Plus, you're a girl," he went on, teasing her. "Wouldn't be fair. You wouldn't have a chance."
"Oh, yeah – going to send Vince and Greg on me, are you?" she quickly retorted, knowing exactly how to reach him. "Because you don't do a lot of the heavy labour yourself, do you?"
He laughed reluctantly. "Shut it…"
She leaned back and threw a Bertie Bott's Bean at him, while picking up a chocolate frog and stuffing it into her mouth. He dodged the Bean with his arm as she picked up another one and tossed it, laughing.
"Actually, can I get that one back – I think that was a candy floss one," she laughed and reached out her arm.
"Are you joking?" he said, sniggering, and picking it up and throwing it back at her. She picked it up and put it in her mouth. Her face immediately screwed up.
"Ugh, no, soap," she grunted, frowning deeply, looking like she was sniffing a Dungbomb. She picked up another couple ones and proceeded throwing them at his head. He defended himself with his arm, dodging them, and sent them bouncing off his arm and flying in opposite directions of the dormitory.
"You do know I've got Quidditch reflexes."
She laughed teasingly. "Oh, do you? Would love to see them come out once or twice at matches!"
That remark made him suddenly push her away to make her stop tossing them at him (it was irritating after all and made it impossible to focus), mock-angry with what she said. "Say that again, Pansy!" he said, ruffling her hair in the process. She was warm when he tickled her sides. She shrieked while laughing: "Draco, stop it!" and pushed him back.
He smirked and leaned back against the pillows against the wall, his roll of parchment with the half-finished essay and History of Magic book in his lap.
"Oh, someone's sensitive," Pansy taunted. He sent her a derisive look, as if she was stupid, but neither of them could refrain from grinning.
"Stuff your fat gob… Past your bedtime, anyway, isn't it?" he teased, indicating that he wanted her to leave. "Time to get going."
Pansy only laughed.
"You're better than Vince and Greg at least, I'll give you that," Pansy said. "At Quidditch, that is!" she added when he started sniggering.
"I'd say I'm better than Montague and Warrington as well," Draco drawled. "And Pucey!" he added. Horse-teethed twit.
"So you're the best player of the entire team, are you?" Pansy snorted teasingly.
"Do you disagree?" he smirked. Pansy only laughed, rolling her eyes.
"Montague really thinks he's God's gift to the Quidditch pitch, doesn't he?" she said then. "Be nice to be rid of them all next year."
Draco sniggered, agreeing. "He's a dictator," he stated.
Pansy gave a giggle and then turned back down to her essay, so he did the same. They continued with their homework for a while, until Pansy yawned loudly.
"Ugh, this is doing my head in. I don't care about Giants," Pansy emphasised. "I can't be bothered with it, to be honest."
She then started laughing, despite not having gained his attention. "Do one of your impressions," she ordered.
He looked up, rolling his eyes. "Of whom?"
She lit up. "Er, doesn't matter," she giggled. "Perhaps... Potter!"
Draco reluctantly gave in – he did need to do a bit more of this essay tonight, but on the other hand, he also did enjoy doing impressions of Potter.
It turned out to be more than one impression – Pansy demanded in laughs that he would do more – she wanted one of Hagrid, of Dumbledore, of King Weasley, even of Crabbe – and her uncontrollable giggles had him agreeing to it.
One second, they were laughing heartedly together at the expense of Granger, and the other, they were close – she did not know how it had happened, but before either of them knew what was happening, she felt him breathing into her open mouth before their lips met, sending warm signals and a tingling sensation through her, making her heart bear faster. Their lips brushed against each other, before she opened her mouth and his tongue slipped in, meeting hers in a mixture of warmth and wetness.
The door jerked open and before she had time to register anything, noisy and messy boys had arrived, shouting and laughing. They broke the kiss immediately – Pansy jumped and returned to reality, while Draco, dizzy-looking, confusedly looked over his shoulder.
Crabbe Goyle, Zabini and Nott had all arrived from the common room to go to bed. Pansy hastily straightened up, and put her hair behind her ears, quickly bolting up from the bed without looking at Draco, whom she suddenly felt unusually awkward around.
"Right, see you," she mumbled briefly with the simple reply of: "yeah," from Draco's part. As she went for the door, she was met by four stunned boys, who immediately began grinning. She ignored them and ignored the small smile that crept up on her lips and quickly left the dormitory.
One thought pounded through her mind in those split seconds, over and over. She could not possibly fancy Draco, could she?
He had been playing Quidditch all night, their team-captain Montague reprimanding them repeatedly for the latest match; he would not have it turn out as bad the next match, he made that perfectly clear. Pansy and a few of her friends had arrived to the pitch at the second half of practice – Draco was considerably less focused that part of the match – and when they were finished and had showered and changed, she waited for him outside the changing rooms in the now dark. He noticed her friends sauntering away to leave them alone.
She smirked at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You were brilliant," she said. He motioned for his team-mates to go on back to the castle without him, and as he slung his bag further up on his shoulder, he smirked back and said with a casual tone, "Oh, that was nothing..."
Pansy grabbed his broom and he admired her boldness, and she laughed, "Merlin... it's so difficult staying up on these... I just keep falling off whenever I go on one."
"You're crap," he agreed. She hit him, grinning, "Draco!"
"Well, teach me then..."
"Right. But don't think I'll go easy on you, just because you're you," he warned.
She gave him a mock-angry look with one raised eyebrow. "You don't have to go easy on me!" she said daringly and a bit too naively, seeing as he knew she had only played Quidditch a very few times in her life because the falling off only made her angry. And that mixed with her stubbornness was not exactly a recipe for success.
He could not, though, help not to admire how much she wanted to prove herself to him. She always made an effort to prove that she was just as good as he was at everything, that she was on the same level as him. She had to make him sure that she was not a silly little girl. It had been like that since the day they met.
Oddly enough, that was something he liked about her. He liked how that made him feel.
