Better Be Slytherin
XXII
Madam Puddifoot's – Second Time Around
Hogsmeade had seemed spookily empty. They only ever visited the village on school-weekends, when it was packed with other students – so this was very unfamiliar. Pansy had almost forced him to come down there with her. The sun had been setting as they snuck out from the castle and the tall trees looked pitch-black against the bluish grey sky with glimpses of pink. The air, the trees, the beige-green dry grass – it was all covered in a warm greyish pink layer.
Currently it was Wednesday evening and Madam Puddifoot's was a bit darker and cosier than usual. Madam Puddifoot herself was half-lying in her chair in the innermost part of her teashop, by the stairs up to her flat that was covered by a curtain. She did not have a lot of work to do this evening, apparently just like all other school nights.
Pansy was babbling on about something – a lot – giggling and sniggering and chattering in a lovely mixture that Draco's aching head was not up for at the moment. He felt a little distant, nodding and smiling in her gaps.
She was too much, but at the same time he felt like he was too hard on her - like he could, and should, try to do this for her sake. When he actually was with her, the few occasions, he should try to make it better again. He pitied her for her having to put up with him. She was lovely, sitting there in the sofa in the window of Madam Puddifoot's, all pink and bright and warm in contrast with the rainy, grey and dull street outside, and going on about the same nonsense she always talked about.
She had made him come down here to Hogsmeade on a usual Wednesday evening. He had gotten angry and told her to bugger off; couldn't she see he was busy? But she wouldn't take no for an answer. She wouldn't let go. And he would never say it, but he was grateful for that. They had snuck out and they had held hands, and – his eyes had almost watered – lack of sleep and food and sunlight, he reckoned, nothing else – and he had felt like she was the only one who understood what he needed. Not that he needed Madam Puddifoot's hot chocolate necessarily, that was actually rather far down on the list of things he needed, but he needed time away – away from the Dark Lord and his bloody task and from his father and from all the pressure and from all the other students and whingy teachers and from his school-work...
Yet, he felt like he couldn't concentrate on her. He was tired. Worn-out. And if he were to take a break from it all he should be sleeping, not having hot chocolate with his girlfriend.
No matter what he did, he did wrong. He felt like a failure.
"…but, I mean, you know how Daphne's like, yeah. She's very spoiled. And she's used to getting what she wants so she just acts however she feels like… Anyway, what are you getting? I want a Cauldron Cake, I reckon."
He couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't sneak out of Hogwarts, out from his task. All his time had to be limited to that and that only. He had to change, be totally and fully committed, or he would fail his mission, and in that fail the Dark Lord – and in that, fail his parents, because he was their only chance of mercy. And in that, finally, failing himself for letting something happen to his parents.
"Draco? You're not listening to me!"
Draco looked up confusedly. "Sorry?"
No, he had not been listening. And Pansy looked well upset about it. Lovely.
Pansy sighed and looked away with a hurt expression on her face. Draco looked at her and did not know what to do or say – he did not, at the moment, have the strength to try and fix everything with Pansy; there were more important things on his mind, crucial things, things that could not be sorted by a late-night cup of tea and a snog, like Pansy could.
But he wanted something in his world to function. So he tried. "Pansy..."
"Forget it," she replied shortly, fixing her scarf.
"I've got a lot on my mind right now, you know that."
"Do I?"
Draco did not know if he entirely understood what she meant by that and that was why he did not know what to say next. He looked away. "Yes."
"Fine," said Pansy and half-rolled her eyes, looking away. Why couldn't she just tell him straight up what the problem was? Did she really expect him to figure it out on his own, by her cryptic comments?
Draco groaned, irritated. "Are you going to be angry now, then?"
Pansy's tone changed from cool to indignant as she exclaimed: "What's the point if you don't care anyway?!"
The affectionate couple by the next table hastily looked over. He bet Pansy wanted the two of them to be more like the other couple. He could not give her that and she should accept that. She practically knew, she'd seen his Dark Mark, she knew he was doing something; they'd already gone through that. Draco was still collected, but felt his temper starting to rise. She could really do that to him. "You know I'm busy," he said slowly.
"Yeah," Pansy gave out in a loud sarcastic sort of snort, still not casting him one glance. She was playing cool to get the upper hand, a game he knew too well coming from her. "You've got more important things on your mind."
Draco did not answer – she was being ridiculous and she would soon realise it. He took a sip of his coffee and just felt how the mood between them was totally drenched. He glanced sideways and let out a slight groan without being able to help himself.
"Everything's more important than me, I know," she said dramatically and looked out the window.
Suddenly a horrible feeling spread through him, anger starting to pulsate through his veins, his heart picking up speed. How the bloody hell could she say something like that?
"You're saying I should value you over Him, are you?" he turned back to look at her in a split second and almost spat – but was sure to keep his voice down as there were a few people around. "You're saying that—"
"No, I'm not!" she tried to interrupt, still angry, but looking upset and – almost frightened? – by his reaction.
"You think that you're more important than me doing what I've got do for Him not to kill my family!" he hissed. He hated speaking of those thingsin public, but she gave him no choice. "You reckon you're more important, you actually do—"
Pansy looked like she was close to tears. "No, I don't! I was only-"
"You really can make everything about you, can't you, Pans?" he got out from behind gritted teeth.
Pansy was looking at him now, both cross and hurt, shaking her head slightly. "That's not what I'm saying, you're not listening to—"
"It is – you just said it. You reckon I should spend more time with you instead of working on my assignment, because you and your wishes are more important than—"
"Draco!"
She stared at him in despair and he knew he was being unfair, but he just had to get out his anger over everything, and she could really wind him up. At the moment he had no sympathy for her.
"Come on, let's not argue. Draco..."
Draco shook his head, staring darkly at the table. "I've got to get back to the castle."
He got up from the table and she was still sitting. She looked up at him pleadingly, and he almost stopped himself and hugged her, bore his head into her neck and let her take care of him. Almost.
His voice was shaky but he said with as much spite as he could, "By the way, this is silly, Pansy, really." He gestured at their surroundings, derisively, just as his heart ached because he wanted to sit in there with her forever and let her talk about things that did not matter and buy him cups of hot chocolate and just be swallowed up in pink, and not think about anything serious. But he would never admit that, not even to himself. He pushed his thoughts back and sent her one last cold look before turning around and walking towards the door, slinging his coat over himself as he excited and came out to the empty, rainy street.
He kicked a rock hard, letting out a loud frustrated groan. He knew how unfairly he was treating her sometimes and he knew they would sort it out later, but all the anger he had collected about the pressure of his mission, the fear of knowing his dad was in prison, the fear of what was to come... it was all boiling inside of him and pathetically enough, it felt good to have let it out on something, even though that something was innocent Pansy.
It was all her fault. Prioritising herself like that, like she always did.
The door closed behind Draco as he exited into the rain outside, the bell over the door leaving an echo in her head, and embarrassment on her cheeks. She wished nothing more than for him to come back in again and apologise and make everything all right. She sat at the exact spot he had left her, tears in her eyes and looked after him. And just then, confetti exploded over her head, making pink little stripes of paper snow down on her, making everything even more hopeless.
She hated fighting with him.
Soundlessly, she started crying. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she wiped them away with the sleeves of her robes. Her tears ran warm but turned cold on her cheeks, a horrible emptiness spreading inside her. She simply sat there for a few moments, not able to think clearly. She wanted him so much, more than he could ever imagine; more than she admitted to herself. How could he do this to her? How could he be this cold to her? The frustration of wanting something, wanting a reaction, a hint of emotion, drove her to act. Her heart was beating fast, and suddenly she got up from her seat, threw down a handful of galleons on the table, and with adrenaline pulsing through her veins, she hurried to leave the teashop, with perfect couples casting her derisive glances, she imagined.
"Wait!"
As soon as she came back out to the chilly back alley, she became soaking wet. The rain was pouring down; it almost made it hard to see clearly. She barely made out Draco's hunched body from behind, walking away, holding his cloak tight around him and his blonde hair darker from the water, and him turning, acknowledging her, but then he kept on walking. He heart was pounding, harder by the second. No, she thought furiously. He won't just walk away! He won't just leave, he won't!
"Will you fucking wait?!"
She was hurrying after him, hating herself for it. But mostly she hated him for making her do it.
"Just piss off, Pansy, and take a bloody hint!" he called behind his shoulder as he kept on walking, faster than ever. He sounded just as angry as her. It almost frightened her. Almost.
"Oh, you gave me quite a bit more than a hint, didn't you?" she shouted, tears running down her cheek. She did not care if he knew, or if he thought it was the rain. Malfoy turned around hastily, casting her a glance, before turning back again. She reckoned he had never seen her this angry. She did not think she had ever been angry with him – annoyed and irritated and frustrated, yes, but they had never had a moment like this. They had never shouted at each other even nearly like this. She had never even let him see her cry, but now she was hurrying after him, soaking wet and crying angrily, not being able to control it. Her hair and black robes were covered in light pink, wet pieces of confetti that had stuck on her. And she hated herself for running after him.
"Will you STOP?!" she shouted as loud as she could, as they reached the deserted and moody main street. It was beginning to grow dark. The rain was bouncingagainst the cobbled street. Pansy stopped for a second, and sobbed out: "You think it's all about you, don't you, well it's fucking about me as well!"
Now that he was not being chased anymore, he finally stopped and turned to look at her. "What are you on about?" Pansy had never seen him looking at her with such contempt. It was so different. He was so angry with her, and she did not reckon she deserved it. And it made her sobs enhance. "Will you just leave me alone for once?"
"For once?!"
She did not know what she was doing, an animalistic urge to hit him, push him, do something to cause him just a hint of the pain he was causing her, to make him feel anything at all, went through her for a split second, but she grabbed his arm, just as he was turning away, with strength that even surprised her; she supposed it was procured by her anger – forcing him to stop.
"YES FOR FUCKING ONCE!" he shouted right in her face, finally acknowledging her, but tearing his arm out of her grip so hard that she almost stumbled. "YOU NEVER LEAVE ME ALONE, DO YOU? EVEN WHEN I'VE TOLD YOU SPECIFICALLY THAT I NEED TO WORK! BUT NO, YOU CAN LEAVE ME ALONE FOR JUST A SECOND, CAN YOU?"
She stumbled a step back, suddenly completely silenced by his words. She was shaking, hard, and she did not know if it was from the cold or from her crying. Her tears and the rain kept pouring down.
"You never give me any privacy at all, do you!" he continued.
"Well, I'm your girlfriend, for one—" she began, feeling like she almost could not breathe.
"No, you're not!" Malfoy got out irritatedly, raising his voice again. She just stared at him. "No," he went on. "We never decided that. I never said that—"
Pansy's eyes widened, her anger returning. "You never said that? You never said that? Don't mind you've been snogging me all summer long, and you took my sodding virginity not a month ago, and you pestered me all summer long, trying to get me to snog you and spend time with you, owling me all the time, Flooing to my home, telling me about serious things, telling me you fancy me..."
She was crying uncontrollably, feeling like a child, yet she could not leave the rage out of her voice. "No, it's all on your terms, isn't it?" she went on, feeling like she could punch him, push him, do something. "Draco's the boss, that's how it is, is it?"
Malfoy only shook his head slightly, and they looked at each other. It did not feel like him. He was someone else. His eyes were cold and empty, and he never did give her a reaction, any at all.
"Just leave me alone."
He turned, and he walked away. And she watched him.
And she was powerless to stop him.
