Better Be Slytherins
XVII
Brotherly Kisses
"He lives here?" asked Bellatrix contemptly. "Here? In this Muggle dunghill? We must be the first of our kind ever to set foot—"
Narcissa was not listening; she slipped through a gap in the rusty railings and was already hurrying across the road.
"Cissy, wait!" Bellatrix followed, her cloak streaming behind, and Narcissa darted through an alley between the houses into a second, almost identical street. Some of the streetlamps were broken; the two women were running between patches of light and deep darkness. The pursuer caught up with her prey just as she turned another corner, this time succeeding in catching hold of her arm and swinging her around so that they faced each other.
"Cissy, you must not do this, you can't trust him—"
"The Dark Lord trusts him, doesn't he?"
"The Dark Lord is... I believe... mistaken," her sister panted, and her eyes gleamed momentarily under her hood as she looked around to check that they were indeed alone. "In any case, we were told not to speak of the plan to anyone. This is a betrayal of the Dark Lord's—"
"Let go, Bella!" snarled Narcissa, and she drew her wand from beneath her cloak, holding it threateningly in her sister's face.
"Cissy, your own sister? You wouldn't—" she laughed.
"There is nothing I wouldn't do anymore!" Narcissa breathed, a note of hysteria in her voice, and as she brought down the wand like a knife, there was another flash of light. Bella let go of her sister's arm as though burned. "Narcissa!"
But Narcissa had rushed ahead. Rubbing her hand, her pursuer followed again, keeping her distance now, as they moved deeper into the deserted labyrinth of brick houses. At last, Narcissa hurried up a street named Spinner's End, over which the towering mill chimney seemed to hover like a giant admonitory finger. Her footsteps echoed on the cobbles as she passed boarded and broken windows, until she reached the very last house, where a dim light glimmered through the curtains in a downstairs room. She had knocked on the door before Bella, cursing under her breath, had caught up. Together they stood waiting, panting slightly, breathing in the smell of the dirty river that was carried to them on the night breeze. After a few seconds, they heard movement behind the door and it opened a crack. Narcissa threw back her hood when she saw Severus.
"Narcissa!" said Snape, opening the door a little wider, so that the light fell upon her and her sister too. "What a pleasant surprise!"
"Severus," she said in a strained whisper. "May I speak to you? It's urgent."
"But of course." He stood back to allow her to pass him into the house. Her still-hooded sister followed without invitation.
"Snape," she said curtly as she passed him.
"Bellatrix," he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them. They had stepped directly into a tiny sitting room, which had the feeling of a dark, padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it was not usually inhabited.
Snape gestured Narcissa to the sofa. She threw off her cloak, cast it aside, and sat down, staring at her white and trembling hands clasped in her lap. Bellatrix did not take her gaze from Snape as she moved to stand behind Narcissa.
"So, what can I do for you?" Snape asked, settling himself in the armchair opposite the two sisters.
"We... we are alone, aren't we?" Narcissa asked quietly.
"Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?" He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen."As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests," said Snape lazily. The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove.
"Narcissa!" he said, in a squeaky voice. "And Bellatrix! How charming—"
"Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them," said Snape. "And then he will return to his bedroom. Some of the elf-made wine will do."
Wormtail hesitated for a moment, looking as though he might argue, but then turned and headed through a second hidden door. They heard banging and a clinking of glasses. Within seconds he was back, bearing a dusty bottle and three glasses upon a tray. He dropped these on the rickety table and scurried from their presence, slamming the book-covered door behind him. Snape poured out three glasses of bloodred wine and handed two of them to the sisters. Narcissa murmured a word of thanks, whilst Bellatrix said nothing, but continued to glower at Snape. This did not seem to discompose him; on the contrary, he looked rather amused.
"The Dark Lord," he said, raising his glass and draining it. The sisters copied him. Snape
refilled their glasses.
As Narcissa took her second drink she said in a rush, "Severus, I'm sorry to come here like this, but I had to see you. I think you are the only one who can help me—"
Snape held up a hand to stop her, and then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs.
"My apologies," said Snape. "He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don't know what he means by it... You were saying, Narcissa?"
She took a great, shuddering breath and started again. "Severus, I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but... I — I think you are the only one who can help me, I have nowhere else to turn. Lucius is in jail and . . ." She closed her eyes and two large tears seeped from beneath her eyelids. "The Dark Lord has forbidden me to speak of it," Narcissa continued, her eyes still closed. "He wishes none to know of the plan. It is ... very secret. But —"
"If he has forbidden it, you ought not to speak," said Snape at once. "The Dark Lord's word is law."
Narcissa gasped. Bellatrix looked satisfied for the first time since she had entered the house.
"There!" she said triumphantly to her sister. "Even Snape says so: You were told not to talk, so hold your silence!"
But Snape had gotten to his feet and strode to the small window, peered through the curtains at the deserted street, then closed them again with a jerk. He turned around to face Narcissa, frowning. "It so happens that I know of the plan," he said in a low voice. "I am one of the few the Dark Lord has told. Nevertheless, had I not been in on the secret, Narcissa, you would have been guilty of great treachery to the Dark Lord."
"I thought you must know about it!" said Narcissa, breathing more freely. "He trusts you so, Severus..."
"You know about the plan?" said Bellatrix, her fleeting expression of satisfaction replaced by a look of outrage. "You know?"
"Certainly," said Snape. "But what help do you require, Narcissa? If you are imagining I can persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I am afraid there is no hope, none at all."
"Severus," she whispered, feeling tears sliding down her pale cheeks. "My son . . . my only son..."
"Draco should be proud," said Bellatrix indifferently. "The Dark Lord is granting him a great honor. And I will say this for Draco: he isn't shrinking away from his duty, he seems glad of a chance to prove himself, excited at the prospect —"
Narcissa began to cry in earnest, gazing beseechingly all the while at Snape. "That's because he is sixteen and has no idea what lies in store! Why, Severus? Why my son? It is too dangerous! This is vengeance lor Lucius's mistake, I know it!"
Snape said nothing. He looked away from the sight of her tears as though they were indecent, but he could not pretend not to hear her.
"That's why he's chosen Draco, isn't it?" she persisted. "To punish Lucius?"
"If Draco succeeds," said Snape, still looking away from her, "he will be honored above all others."
"But he won't succeed!" sobbed Narcissa. "How can he, when the Dark Lord himself—?"
Bellatrix gasped; Narcissa realised she had said too much.
"I only meant... that nobody has yet succeeded... Severus... please...You are, you have always been, Draco's favorite teacher... You are Lucius's old friend... I beg you... You are the Dark Lord's favorite, his most trusted advisor... Will you speak to him, persuade him—?"
"The Dark Lord will not be persuaded, and I am not stupid enough to attempt it," said Snape flatly. "I cannot pretend that the Dark Lord is not angry with Lucius. Lucius was supposed to be in charge. He got himself captured, along with how many others, and failed to retrieve the prophecy into the bargain. Yes, the Dark Lord is angry, Narcissa, very angry indeed."
"Then I am right, he has chosen Draco in revenge!" choked Narcissa. "He does not mean him to succeed, he wants him to be killed trying!" When Snape said nothing, Narcissa lost what little self-restraint she still possessed. Standing up, she staggered to Snape and seized the front of his robes. Her face close to his, her tears falling onto his chest, she gasped, "You could do it. You could do it instead of Draco, Severus. You would succeed, of course you would, and he would reward you beyond all of us—"
Snape caught hold of her wrists and removed her clutching hands. Looking down into her tearstained face, he said slowly, "He intends me to do it in the end, I think. But he is determined that Draco should try first. You see, in the unlikely event that Draco succeeds, I shall be able to remain at Hogwarts a little longer, fulfilling my useful role as spy."
"In other words, it doesn't matter to him if Draco is killed!"
"The Dark Lord is very angry," repeated Snape quietly. "He failed to hear the prophecy. You know as well as I do, Narcissa, that he does not forgive easily."
She crumpled, falling at his feet, sobbing and moaning on the floor. "My only son... my only son..."
"You should be proud!" said Bellatrix ruthlessly. "If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord!"
Narcissa gave a little scream of despair and clutched at her long blonde hair. Snape stooped, seized her by the arms, lifted her up, and steered her back onto the sofa. He then poured her more wine and forced the glass into her hand. "Narcissa, that's enough. Drink this. Listen to me."
She quieted a little; slopping wine down herself, she took a shaky sip.
"It might be possible ... for me to help Draco."
She sat up, her face paper-white, her eyes huge. "Severus — oh, Severus — you would help him? Would you look after him, see he comes to no harm?"
"I can try."
She flung away her glass; it skidded across the table as she slid off the sofa into a kneeling position at Snape's feet, seized his hand in both of hers, and pressed her lips to it. "If you are there to protect him . . . Severus, will you swear it? Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?"
"The Unbreakable Vow?" Snape's expression was blank, unreadable. Bellatrix, however, let out a cackle of triumphant laughter.
"Aren't you listening, Narcissa? Oh, he'll try, I'm sure. . . . The usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action . . . oh, on the Dark Lord's orders, of course!"
Snape did not look at Bellatrix. His black eyes were fixed upon Narcissa's tear-filled blue ones as she continued to clutch his hand. "Certainly, Narcissa, I shall make the Unbreakable Vow," he said quietly. "Perhaps your sister will consent to be our Bonder."
Bellatrix's mouth fell open. Snape lowered himself so that he was kneeling opposite Narcissa. Beneath Bellatrix's astonished gaze, they grasped right hands. "You will need your wand, Bellatrix," said Snape coldly.
She drew it, still looking astonished. "And you will need to move a little closer," he said. She stepped forward so that she stood over them, and placed the tip of her wand on their linked hands. Narcissa spoke.
"Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?"
"I will," said Snape. A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire.
"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"
"I will," said Snape. A second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first, making a fine, glowing chain.
"And, should it prove necessary... if it seems Draco will fail..." whispered Narcissa (Snape's hand twitched within hers, but he did not draw away), "will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?" There was a moment's silence. Bellatrix watched, her wand upon their clasped hands, her eyes wide.
"I will," said Snape. Bellatrix's astounded face glowed red in the blaze of a third unique of flame, which shot from the wand, twisted with the others, and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands, like a rope, like a fiery snake.
Draco was cheerful, even blissfully happy, for days after Bletchley's party – without even trying, he had stumbled onto an ingenious way of performing his grand mission. Without even trying!
He spent his days, however, inside the manor with Bellatrix, who was educating him in the power of The Unforgivables, as well as having him practice both illegal Apparition (since he was only soon to be sixteen) and adult duelling, something he realised he had never even been close to doing. Usually his magic work consisted of unlocking doors, hexing quills to make them write his essays for him, and refilling his cup of pumpkin juice at the breakfast table in the Great Hall. Never had he used his magic in the way he was taught now – to aim, to protect himself, and even to kill. She also taught him Legilimens and Occlumency – to be able to protect himself from nosy teachers once he returned to school. He briefly thought that he would use it on Pansy as well, if she started asking too much questions...
The following two weeks he kept on training with his aunt, practicing the killing curse was the most important task – if he were to succeed in finishing off Dumbledore, he had to master the spell.
He had already found the first step and the key to his mission – how to let the Death Eaters into the castle, through the Cabinet like Montague had told him. The next step was to (besides mastering the Unforgivables) find a way to mend it – and he hardly believed Reparo would work. He would have to do his research.
"He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named BACK!"
"Potter – Chosen One?"
"SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE"
Blaise Zabini put the three different copies of The Daily Prophet aside on his dusty, mahogny desk in the small bedroom at the top of the skinny three-story town-house in central London. He found it important to keep tabs with reality, which was why he had a subscription to the newspaper – however since he had come back home for summer holidays, he had barely had time to do more than glance at the headlines – he had spent most of his time with the other Slytherin boys, playing Quidditch, visiting Diagon Alley and having mead at Bletchley's house – not to mention that time they snuck into The Wicked Wand – but mostly he had spent time with Theodore Nott. The two of them had grown closer during the previous school year, not that their activities extended to much more than visiting the library together, walking from classes to lunch together, or studying to the wee hours of the night in the common room. Since they had left Hogwarts, however, their relationship had expanded slightly. As Nott's father had been incarcerated along with Malfoy's, Crabbe's and Goyle's fathers, Theodore had been sent to live with a willing wizarding family up north (or so Blaise thought, if he remembered correctly) – but he had been granted to move back home after a few days.
He had mentioned the situation to his mother the day he came home to London, after making his way out of King's Cross and wondering wether to stretch his legs a bit and actually walk home, or just use the Floo Powder Network out of The Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley not far from the station. Finally he had decided to simply walk, since it was a fine day, a sunny and warm English summer's day, and there was not much waiting for him at home anyway. He reduced his trunk by magic and put the now palm-sized object in the pocket of his trousers. After passing dozens of Muggle tourists with their cameras outside countless museums, the large red double-deckers competing of the road space with the numerous black taxi cars, and countless of Londoners having their after-work drinks and doing their shopping – he was thankful that the sun was setting, casting a pinkish light over the city, because he was glowing with sweat in his dark school robes. He had walked for an hour or so when he reached the Fulham road, packed with large brick-buildings and Muggles in their rush-hour home from work – he took a corner and came upon a smaller road bordered with smaller white buildings, with large green trees here and there, and he continued down it until he reached King's Road. Ah, Chelsea. Home, he thought. He supposed he was a true Londoner, he could not imagine living in such a calm and rural place as Theodore or even Malfoy did – with miles to the next neighbour or pub. Passing the low buildings with the exclusive shops and the busy street of King's Road, walking closer to the river, a couple of more side-streets, and he finally had reached his home. Low brick-buildings with skinny separated homes with their equally skinny front and back gardens – he could almost smell the Thames.
Through the small hall and into the combined sitting parlor and kitchen he went, and there on the dark velvet sofa his mother's newest fiancée was lying, his legs crossed at his ankles, greying hair, spectacles on his nose and with a large copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands. Blaise had ignored him, and so had he. His mother had been in the kitchen which was unusual for her, she usually dined out – but seeing her, he had to stop in the door-way. She looked like an African goddess. She took him into her soft bosom, and for one second he had known that he was glad his mother was not married to a Death Eater, even if she sympathised with the Dark Lord's views. Blaise had then told her about Theodore Nott and it had been Mr Felstead who had suggested, from his place in the sofa behind his newspaper, that why didn't they "have the boy stay here". The department of the Ministry that handled the issue had rejected the proposal however, but when Theodore finally had been able to go home, he had used his the Floo Powder Network to transport himself head-only, and he had appeared in the fireplace of the second floor of the Zabini residence, and he and Blaise had spoken for more than an hour – Nott had told him all about the temporary home and about what had happened to put his father in Azkaban. Blaise had even told him that Mr Felstead had offered to represent Nott Sr in Wizengamot, but Theodore had spilled the beans – no trial had been neccessary for either his father, Lucius Malfoy, Warren Crabbe, Garrick Goyle, or any of the other Death Eater's that had been arrrsted that evening in June.
With a wiff of green, they swirled around and suddenly appeared in the large fireplace of the sitting room of Malfoy Manor. The sky outside was dark and scattered with stars, and there was no light anywhere in the large parlor, making it hardly possible to see anything but the outlines of the furniture. He and Pansy were both giggling. He led her out of the fireplace, surely kicking som ash down on the light carpet in front, but he was slightly too intoxicated on Fire Whiskey to be bothered.
Through the large, dimly lit hall, over the cold stone floor, and up the grand staircase they went, being watched by Draco's old relatives in the portraits on the wall. They had managed to sneak in to The Wicked Wand, a low profile wizarding pub in another part of Wiltshire, despite their age, and had been served stronger drinks than Butterbeer. They – as in Draco himself, Crabbe and Goyle, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Pansy – had all enjoyed it very much. His and Pansy's relationship had not changed much since he had felt like snogging her at the party – they had gotten it on in Bletchley's broom cupboard and then just gone back to being friends and housemates again. Their mutual attraction (or so he thought) had not altered, however, and he had managed to somehow persuade her to come home with him.
The clicks of his heels echoed through the corridor – he hoped he would not wake up his mother; as much as his parents adored Pansy and found her incredibly suitable for him, he had the feeling his mother would not be too happy about him taking her home (not to mention how they both stank of mead, and their occasional hiccup). They reached his room and he felt a jolt go through his stomach when he opened the door. She would actually be in his bed tonight, something he had imagined to himself since coming home for the summer. He was proud to show his room, everything about it was large – the size of the room, the still crackling fireplace, the massive curtains, the bed with the Quidditch-themed covers... Oh, sod off... He had not exactly prepared his bed for girl visits.
Pansy tittered mischeviously, her eyes teasing him. He sniggered and shrugged, pretended like he was not bothered. He felt tipsy and excited, yet slightly dizzy if he were to be honest. Pansy tittered again and jumped up on his bed while Draco attemped closing the door soundlessly. He then turned to her where she lay propped up on the bed, and he smiled.
She gave a small laugh. "Come here" she said, reaching out her arm.
He obliged, unbuttoning his cloak as he walked towards the bed, and tossed it aside onto one of the armchairs. He was becoming more excited, they had never actually been in either of their bedrooms or dormitories, not in that way anyway, not at night, not staying over, sleeping in the same bed. No, their getting off had consisted of the occasional snog whenever the common room was fairly empty, occasionally holding hands between classes, a fat load of hugs, but mostly hanging out as friends, laughing and joking around, and everyday life at Hogwarts with schoolwork, classes, friends and the inquisitorial squad. Except that one time in the dormitory when Nott had caught them. But Pansy had not been able to stay over, and had trotted back to her own dormitory. When he thought back on it, Draco himself hadn't been the most affectionate, but then neither had she. That said, this was long wanted, at least from his part, and he reckoned Pansy had thought about it a few times as well.
A few days passed and even though they had slept together without sleeping together, Pansy found the situation pressing – or perhaps it was just because she had slept in his bed but they had not had sex, that she found everything so awkward. It had been the first time they had slept in the same bed – sure they had been over to each other's dormitories that spring for some snogging but they had always separated before bed-time. But now, sleeping together without having sex – it just complicated things... Had it been more intimate than just a casual snog and getting off?
The thought panicked her slightly, and she stayed clear of him for a few days.
"Why are you avoiding me?"
They had run into each other again, a couple of days after the incident. She merely laughed in Draco's face, having a sip of Butterbeer. She was drunk. "I'm not avoiding you," she slurred.
"You haven't spoken to me all night," he said, rolling his eyes.
"Whatever, I'm with my mates," she said. Her rudeness surprised him; she was usually always basking in his attention. What was the matter with her?
"Whatever," he retorted.
"Yeah, are you going to be angry now then?"
He just frowned. Why was she being so bloody rude?
"No, I'm sorry for bothering you," he said sarcastically and hastily got up.
"You're like a brother to me."
He had barely made out the words as he went for the door, frowning greatly behind Pansy's back. Why in Merlin's name would she say that and where the bloody hell did that come from all of a sudden? She had seemed perfectly keen back in Draco's bed the other night... Whatever, if that was the way things were going to be, fine with him.
A mere two days later they had their next, stiff encounter. The lads had thrown a little gathering for Draco's sixteenth birthday (Narcissa had not bothered to celebrate Draco's birthday that year, what with Lucius in prison and Bellatrix's presence making them all gloomy).
Draco could not invite people over because frankly they had a Death Eater staying over, so they had all settled for having the party at Bletchley's. His parents never seemed to be home anyway. They were all in their best dress robes, waiting for the guests to arrive – Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, Miles (naturally), team captain Graham Montague, best friends Callum Yulley and James Yardley, horse-teethed Adrian Pucey, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, had just poured themselves rather large glasses of Ogden's Finest Fire Whiskey.
The doorbell of Bletchley's large house rang, and he went to open. The lads all perked up from their seats in the kitchen when they heard girls' voices in the entrance hall. By the sound of it, Pansy Parkinson and her gang of girls had arrived – namely Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode and Queenie Wilkes. Draco raised his glass to his lips and took a large gulp of the burning liquid. Here we go, he thought.
The girls strutted in to say hello – Pansy practically bounced into the kitchen, giant smile on her lips, immediately a drink in hand by Yulley, and sucked in the attention of everyone in the room. Daphne clung onto her arm and basked in her shared part of the attention, hugging all the boys hello.
"Happy birthday," Pansy casually got out and gave Draco a hasty hug. He rolled his eyes. Oh, now that there was a party she didn't feel like ignoring him anymore? No, not when there was a party to come to.
Draco grabbed onto Goyle and motioned for Crabbe to come with, and went for the living room, placing his drink on a small coffee table by the sofas and slung himself down. The WWN was playing The Weird Sisters at an alarmingly loud volume.
He could hear all the boys (except for perhaps Theodore Nott) laughing with and entertaining Pansy and the girls. He rolled his eyes. Crabbe and Goyle were not big conversationalists, and he sort of wished he had stayed in the kitchen, but he would not give Pansy the satisfaction of letting her decide when they were going to speak and when to not.
Caecus Warrington (another member of the team) arrived with Philip Vaisey and someone called Linus Urquhart who Draco (after shaking hands with him while on the sofa in the living room) vaguely remembered as someone he had met in a children's Quidditch tournament before Hogwarts.
Several more Slytherins came and joined the party, such as older lads Darius Berrow, Peregrine Derrick, Lucian Bole, Terrence Higgs and Marcus Flint – Draco did not know any of them particularly well, he had played Quidditch with Higgs and Flint, but besides that he quite wondered why they had come to his birthday party...
Word must have spread through Miles' little brother Kevin because he was there with his friends Graham Pucey (Adrian's younger brother), Timothy Morcott (who resembled Theodore Nott in both appearance and from what it seemed – personality as well), Malcolm Baddock, Graham Pritchard and Oliver Harper, all six of them standing in one corner of the living room and awkwardly looking around, looking both excited and nervous to be at a party with girls.
Nott was chewing Droobles Best Chewing Gum and blowing large pink bubbles, Crabbe and Goyle were mixing Fire Whiskey with Butterbeer in their glasses just beside him in hope of an even stronger drink, Draco was still in the sofa and only focusing on getting drunk. Pansy was confusing him to his limit – he didn't understand her one bit. She was up dancing with her girlfriends in the middle of the living room right then, laughing and drinking, with that upturned nose of hers... Miles Bletchley was dancing next to her, and called something out to her, making Pansy laugh loudly.
Draco narrowed his eyes. He hated it when other boys even spoke to Pansy. Not that she was his and not that he was in love with her. He snorted. But some friend Bletchley was – throwing him a birthday party and then flirting with his Pansy?
A new thought hit him – something he had never thought of before. Perhaps their casual snogging and getting off from time to time was not enough for Pansy to not still do that with other boys too. The thought had not even entered his mind before but... Was Pansy snogging other boys just as she was snogging him?
"She's totally taking the piss, mate," a voice from his right said. Draco turned to said voice and found Adrian Pucey staring at him. He must have seen what he was looking towards, and Draco realised his face was screwed up in anger.
"That's out of order," Pucey went on.
"What is?" Draco hissed impatiently.
"Parkinson. Yous' two are getting off aren't you? Well she's over there flirting with other blokes. You've got to get a move on and seal the deal with that one..."
Draco snorted. What the bloody hell did horse-teethed Adrian Pucey know about girls anyway? He'd declined going off to a bathroom with a girl because "he didn't need to use the loo", as Montague kindly had informed them all.
Feeling stressed, Draco saw how Pansy and her friends began moving through the room and towards the sofas. He looked away and took a large sip of his drink again.
"Birthday boy!" Pansy gushed as soon as she saw him. He smirked, enjoying her attention at last. She brought her glass up to toast with him, and the rest of their classmates joined in.
He met Pansy's, Crabbe's, Goyle's, Blaise's, Theodore's, Daphne's, Tracey's, Millicent's and Queenie's glasses in a clink. "Cheers everyone!" Pansy and Daphne said excitedly in unison, and everyone mimicked them, before they sat down and began a conversation about Hogwarts, Quidditch, professors, The Weird Sisters, Witch Weekly, and so on.
"Can you imagine we're actually starting sixth year in a few weeks," Tracey was saying to nods from Theodore and Gregory, a while later.
"Yes, just one more year until we're the oldest," smirked Pansy.
"Has anyone even thought past finishing Hogwarts? Like where we'll be in ten years from now."
Daphne giggled. "Pansy will be popping out Malfoy heirs every other month, probably."
Pansy hit her on the arm as the others laughed and Malfoy's cheeks turned pink and he looked away.
The entire house and garden were packed. Pansy was becoming more and more intoxicated by elderflower wine and Blishen's Fire Whiskey, not to mention those five or so Butterbeers she had at the beginning of the evening. Needless to say she was blissful and in a merry mood, even before one of the older blokes shouted "let's party!" and everyone started dancing.
She had her girlfriends all around her, a drink in her hand, The Weird Sisters on the gramophone – it was the recipe of a perfect night. The boys came and joined them, and they all laughed and joked around while dancing. Suddenly Malfoy was there. It was crowded, hot and badly lit. She sent him teasing looks and he kept on sipping his mead. Then he came closer and looked at her with a special glint in his eyes and said: "Where's my birthday kiss?"
She looked up at him, still dancing – he was standing still. She couldn't help it; a satisfied smirk crept up on her features. She shrugged, to tease him.
Malfoy grinned at her and wiggled his eyebrows. Why not? She thought and leaned closer to him, grabbed him by his shoulders and gave him a sloppy tongue-kiss, while the music was playing loudly around them. She pulled away just in time for the music pausing. The room suddenly filled with voices, which had not been audible before. Bletchley and Crabbe were waving and shouting to get everyone's attention – to say happy birthday to Malfoy and toast again. Malfoy casually smirked in the spotlight.
Pansy had to go and rest from all the dancing; waving her hand in her face she sat down in one of the sofas, Malfoy following her.
Two girls from the year below, Mathilda Greenford and Daphne's little sister Astoria, were in the sofas sipping wine, and eagerly said hello to Pansy, who just smiled.
"This is my friend," she introduced him.
"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Draco shook both of their hands and feeling bold, added: "I'm like a brother to Pansy."
It made the two younger girls giggle. Pansy laughed loudly and turned to him, privatising the conversation by turning her back on the girls. "All right," she said, amused, obviously getting the hint but deciding not to mention it.
Draco gave her an innocent look.
"Having a good birthday?" she asked instead.
He smirked. "Yes, quite."
"Lovely," she grinned cheekily and refilled her glass with Fire Whiskey and had a large sip. As Draco said nothing, Pansy decided to turn her back to him and continue chatting with the other girls.
She felt slightly dizzy, but was laughing and joking about, having loads of fun. After a second refill of her glass with her wand, she was beginning to feel quite intoxicated, and even swayed in the sofa. Someone's hands grabbed her shoulders from behind and she turned around and realised it was Draco.
"Perhaps you should put that down for a while."
But Pansy only grabbed her drink and gulped down more, until Draco stopped her. "I think I'll take that for a while," he said and put it away so she could not reach it.
"No," she pouted. "It's mine."
He smiled which made her giggle. "You're too drunk," he mumbled, and played with her hair a little.
"So are you, you're slurring," Pansy pointed out. They both giggled.
"Let's not embarrass ourselves," Draco said. He got up, feeling quite dizzy, and grabbed her arm, making her come with him. He led her outside into Bletchley's garden.
"You just want to get me alone," Pansy teased.
"Mhmm," he agreed. She gave a satisfied snort-laugh.
"I hope you're having a good birthday party," she said and sipped her drink.
"You're such a good mate for saying that," Draco sneered, swaying little. It just made Pansy laugh loudly right in his face.
"Right! You're bothered about that," she said.
"What are you on about?" Draco asked, faking ignorance.
"That I said you were like my brother."
"Oh, no, I agree fully. You're like a sister to me as well."
"And you want to snog your sister?" Pansy said with a glint in her eye.
"Sorry?"
"Just what I've heard," Pansy said mischievously.
"Must've heard wrong," Draco slurred.
"Yes, how many girls named Pansy do you know?" She was teasing him. The silly bint.
"A few," Draco lied, looking away. Pansy laughed.
"I heard you're practically begging for it," she said. The cheek!
"I was not," he snorted. A silence spread between them for a few seconds. And then he added in a mutter: "Well, what did you think when you heard it, then?"
Pansy laughed loudly. "Oh, so now you did mean me?"
"Fuck off."
For a while, they were silent. Then Pansy knew she had to speak up.
"Sorry I've been, y'know, avoiding you slightly. I was just... err..." she trailed off.
"What?"
"Well, I was, you kow..."
"No, what?" Draco was teasing her, she knew that. She groaned inwardly – he could be so annoying.
"Well, you know!"
"I do not," Draco smirked. Pansy looked away and cleared her throat. "Oh, sod it," he said. "I fancy you, even though you've got small tits. And that nose!"
Pansy hit him on the arm. "Whatever. You're rather okay as well, except that you've got a misshaped head and a rat-nose."
"Thanks," Draco said, smiling sarcastically.
Friendship and attraction – was that love? Did that mean that she fancied him? Pansy really did not know. Was she in love or just horny?
Obviously a large part of this chapter is taken from "Spinner's End" of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and is not of my creating.
