Better Be Slytherin
XLVIII
Being Slytherin

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends


Pansy marched straight up to Draco, who looked surprised at her angry face expression.

"What'd he say?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. To his utter astonishement, she grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him towards the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

"What? Are you angry with me?" he asked incredilously. She sent him a murderous glare and kept walking, through the common room, until they reached the stairs down to the dormitories. He jerked his arm out of her grip but followed.

"Pansy, what's the matter?" he asked, now impatient. Who did she think she was?

She marched straight into her dormitory and he confusedly followed. It was empty, she must've known that. As soon as the door slid shut after him, she turned to him with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Did you know?!"

"Know what?" he exclaimed defensively.

"Did you know there were girls locked in your bloody cellar? Did you know?"

It felt as if the blood in his veins went cold. He was caught out.

"Oh, so that's what this is about..." He turned away, unsure of how to handle the situation, and ashamed to look at her face. Her bed was unmade, the dark green duvet in a bundle along with her silk pyjamas.

"Don't turn away from me! Theodore just told me you—I don't even know how to say it," she spat.

Draco sighed, his back still to her. "That I what, Pans?" he said impatiently. This wasn't really a discussion he wanted to have with her. The things he did for the Dark Lord was completely separate to his life here.

"That you kidnapped that Lovegood girl."

Her voice was calm but dangerous. He was afraid to turn and face her, but knew he had to. She was seething.

"Well, if dear old Theodore said it, then it must be true..." he began in a drawl. It was a defence mechanism, he knew, an excuse to roll his eyes and look away from her judging face again.

"Well, is it?!" she demanded. He felt as if he was being set detention by professor McGonagall.

"Oh, please!" he then finally shot back, "Since when have you been a ringleader for morality? You've never cared about blood traitors anyway! You've never exactly defied the Dark Lord's actions before!"

Pansy gaped at him. "So it's true."

He stared at her defiantly, shaking inside. He'd never seen her looking at him with such hate and he didn't understand this reaction from her. Suddenly, she moved quickly, and all he knew was that something collided with his face, and he heard aloud smack.

His hand flew to his face, shocked and in pain he grasped his cheek, and realised she'd slapped him. He moved back quickly, and shouted, "What the—!"

"You complete and utter twat!" she shouted, positively fuming.

"Have you lost the plot?" he shot at her, still clutching his throbbing cheek, his ear ringing. He'd only ever been slapped once before in his life, by that Mudblood Granger.

"You kidnapped a girl?!" she shouted, "A girl! My age! How could you do that?"

He had turned away again, out of shock and anger, rubbing his face, pondering whether to leave the dormitory, shout back at her, or try to apologise. Currently he was too angry to do the latter.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" she spat. The sheer nerve of her speaking to him like that, like she'd never done before, made him almost want to shake her. Instead, he punched the wall once and then shoved her chest of drawers so the mirror crashed and fell to the floor. Pansy jumped, and shrieked, "Stop it! You're scaring me!"

He kicked her trunk on the floor, and then realised his hand was hurting more than his face, and slumped down onto her bed, the adrenaline wearing off but the anger remaining, looking at his bloody knuckles.

"You've got a lot of nerve doing that," he breathed. He was shaking with anger.

"Are you having a laugh? The fact that you're not apologising to me right now is mental!" her voice was shaking to.

"Apologise to you? For what?"

"You kept a girl locked in your cellar!"

"Yes, you don't think I'm aware?" he snarled. "What was I meant to do then, hmm? If you've forgotten, I'm a Death Eater. I get orders, and I have to follow them. You haven't had a problem with this before. You've always found him fascinating!"

"Well, perhaps I don't anymore! Perhaps I don't like him so much after knowing he orders you lot to take young girls hostage! And perhaps I don't particularly like you so much either!"

He turned to look at her. She was breathing heavily, her face hard. He stared back at her, like a silent battle. "You really are your father's son," she finally said, and she almost looked sad. "You remind me of him."

"What's wrong with that?"

He wanted to scream at her that no, he wasn't his father's son – and that was the problem. But she was circling dangerous territory, and opened and closed her mouth several times before saying anything again. The eye contact hurt. She was disappointed in him, he could feel it, and he didn't know if anyone had ever been disappointed in him before. His parents had always let him do anything.

"How could you do that?" she finally said, quietly. She was sitting on the other side of the bed now, but they felt like a world apart. "Did you really want to do that?"

"It doesn't matter what I want to do," he said impatiently. "I've done worse."

Shock, disgust and hurt appeared on her face. She was frowning so hard it looked like she was about to start crying.

It softened him. He closed his eyes and felt horrible. Shame and guilt washed over him.

"Pans... I'm sorry..." he leaned over towards her, to try and come closer, to bridge any gap between them, but she moved away.

"How could you tell me all of this was good!" she accused. It wasn't a question. The moment was gone, and he moved back to his end of the bed.

"You can't possibly blame me for that, Pansy, that's ridiculous."

"You made it out like if the Dark Lord took over everything would be perfect!"

"Well, I was naive and stupid and so were you for believing me!" he snarled, without thinking.

"What?"

He knew he'd said too much now. He swore under his breath.

"What do you mean?" she insisted, her voice low now.

"I did what I was told," he snapped, trying to rectify the situation, "not something you'd understand of course since you only ever do what you want without thinking about anybody else."

"Are you joking? Do you hear yourself? You kidnapped a girl because you were thinking about everybody else? You did it because you're a coward, Draco! You were a coward when you couldn't finish Dumbledore off and you were a coward when you kidnapped that girl and now you're a coward because you won't admit you don't like the Dark Lord anymore!"

She was breathing heavily. He stared at her, mouth open, not knowing what to say, and felt a large shame spread over him. How could she possibly know?

"You don't know what you're talking about," he breathed, hoping to conceal his nervousness.

"Don't I?" she said, staring up at him angrily.

"I'm a Death Eater, Pansy," he began, "and I always will be."

"Only because you must, not because you want to," she accused. His heart was hammering in his chest, his robes felt uncomfortably tight. "Isn't that right? You keep slipping up. You just said you were stupid for thinking everything would be perfect if the Dark Lord took over. You've been acting weird for a long time now, all year in fact... Don't think I don't notice!"

He was sweating now, and he dragged a hand through his hair and over his lip. But he couldn't think of a reply. He racked his brain for something he could say that would make her believe he wasn't a traitor.

"You don't want anything to do with the Carrows. Even Crabbe has caught on, even Crabbe knows something's up with you..."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He realised it was feeble.

"You can't even tell your own girlfriend. You don't want it anymore. Do you?"

Oh, she was playing the hurt-girlfriend card, was she? Well, she wasn't going to get anything out of him by manipulation.

"No," he lied, "I want this. I always have. And doing his bidding is part of it. So if he needs me to kidnap that girl, I do it. That's what it's all about, Pansy."

He didn't want to lose her, he didn't... She mustn't know how he felt, that he didn't like the Dark Lord anymore. She'd leave him for someone who did. He knew how she felt about it. She'd never change. But a glimmer of hope had been lit. Perhaps he could tell her everything, after all, perhaps she felt the same way – perhaps they could make their way through this? He'd already been forced to choose sides but perhaps she didn't have to.

She looked at him, scrutinising. Her gaze made him uncomfortable and he looked away. "It was once. One girl. Not girls. Just the one."

Her eyes widened. "Oh that makes it so much better! During Christmas – really Draco? So while I was upstairs in your bedroom there was an underage girl locked in the cellar! And you didn't think to mention it to me?"

"Why would I? You're not a Death Eater! I can't just go around talking about our business to anyone!"

"Anyone?!" she shrieked. "Is that what I am?"

"Don't be stupid," he grumbled, rolling his eyes, "you know what I mean. And I didn't think you were interested anyway."

"I'm not!"

"Well, what did you think the Dark Lord was all about then?" he hissed at her. She looked taken aback.

"I hadn't really thought about it to be honest!" she defended herself. "You've spent the last seven years talking about how he's all that, and I trusted you."

"You're an adult," he said coldly, "you make your own opinions."

"I didn't think it included torturing girls." She looked defeated. And he realised she was actually scared and shocked.

"Nobody's tortured her as far as I know," he said quietly. He didn't know if it was a comfort.

"I don't care about Lovegood," Pansy suddenly looked up at him, defending herself. "She's a ditz. I just didn't think this was how it was all going to be."

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully. He knew what he meant and he had an inkling he knew what she meant too but he wasn't sure. These were dangerous things to discuss.

"I don't know," she admitted and sighed. "It's confusing. I don't like Mudbloods," she said forcefully, looking up at him.

"Nor do I."

"Or Bloodtraitors. And I think we're better than them."

"So do I."

"But..." she cleared her throat. Please, Pansy just say it, he thought. He was dying to share this with someone. Crabbe and Goyle were out of the question. "I didn't think it was going to be like this. Using the Unforgivables on students... all the murders... It's scary."

It reminded him of a couple years back when Pansy had admitted her father wasn't a supporter. He wondered again if her naivety made her tell the truth or if she simply trusted him.

"I just thought," she said slowly, not looking at him, "that it'd be a bit more fun."

He actually gave a laugh. She really was naive. Although, so had he been, before his mission.

"When you received your task from the Dark Lord, I was so pleased... I thought it'd be us two on top of the world. It was fun at first, getting away with things and being on top. I thought we were going to rule Slytherin."

"There's the girl I know," he grinned.

"And now that we do... It's not in the way I thought it would be. It's so dark... and serious... And I don't like the Carrows!"

"Nor do I, darling."

She looked surprised up at him at his soft tone and the term of endearment he'd never used before. He reached out his hand for hers and they trailed their fingers together. He pulled her closer. Enormous relief washed over him. He'd held this in for so long, he couldn't even remember how long. His life lately had been a bizarre bubble of Unforgivable Curses and acting. Never knowing who to trust. Keeping everything bottled up. Never slipping up. Hurting people, hiding things. Blood, screams, torture. He swallowed.

Now Pansy was on his side. Finally, someone was on his side. He could breathe again. He couldn't speak. She moved closer on the bed to touch him. She stroked his cheek and neck, her fingers finally resting at the back of his head in his hair.

"I don't care about it anymore," he breathed. He didn't dare say it any louder. He finally knew that he could say this, because Pansy wouldn't tell on him. She stared back into his eyes, and she understood.

Now, they finally understood each other. It was finally out in the open.

"But you have to," she mumbled, their eyes still locked.

"Yes," he whispered, "but you don't have to."

She looked away, looking lost in thoughts.

"I have to keep playing my part," he went on, his voice still barely audible but firm, "because I've already chosen sides. But you haven't, Pans."

She was staring out the window at the murky water outside the windows. "This is why you've been acting strange... all year... It even explains last year... Why you were so... depressed... Why you couldn't talk to me, why you talked to that ghost... It all makes sense now."

"I didn't even know, myself, until recently," said Draco. "But, I suppose it's been coming on for a long time. Not exactly ideal, is it, what with the Carrows running this place and one of my best friends very keen to prove himself to them."

"You mean, you think Crabbe would sell you out to the Carrows – if he knew?"

"I'm sure of it."

"You could've told me how you felt." She turned back to look at him again, a slight expression of blame on her face.

"I shouldn't even be talking about this." He ran a hand through his hair. "If the Dark Lord knew... He finds out these things, Pansy. He's skilled in Legilimency."

"So are you. And you are a master of Occlumency," she said with a small teasing smile. "You've managed to keep me out for more than a year, after all. And we share a bed."

He gave a small smile, but didn't say anything. Pansy must've noticed the look on his face, because she put her hand on his and said, "Don't worry, Draco. This changes nothing. At least not to anyone but us."

"No-one can know," he said gravely. "I'll be killed."

She shook her head.

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

"Nothing. We act."

"Do you think anyone will ever defeat him? Or will we have to act our whole lives?"

He met her eyes. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't want to lie. "We can only hope."

She leaned in and kissed him affectionately, and he knew that nothing more could be said, and that probably she wanted to end the conversation. It scared him too. Now she was even more involved in him.

"It doesn't matter which side we're on," he whispered into her neck. She stroked his back with her hands lovingly. "Look at my father – he was a Death Eater in the first war, and he made it through all right without being sent to Azkaban... Nothing changed for him when the Dark Lord disappeared. He still had his money, and the manor and all the connections."

"And my father's not even in the League."

"Exactly, so it doesn't matter which side wins. We're Slytherins – we adapt. We'll survive, no matter what."

"Like cockroaches."

He slowed down his pace and kissed her lovingly. They'd never had sex like that before. It turned him on in a new way, for some reason, it made him feel more in love.

"I need you, Pans," he mumbled. And he'd said it before during or before sex but it had meant something else then – and it meant a whole different thing now and he thought that she understood that because she paused and looked mildly surprised. And then she grabbed him by the neck and pulled him closer, kissed him, and mumbled against his mouth, "same".

It filed him with immense satisfaction, but no smugness.

He remembered her dancing under the influence of Fire Whiskey in the common room at one of the parties they had in fifth year, singing along to some song off the WWN about how witches didn't need any wizards...

He smiled to himself. In the end, she came around. She needed him now. Just like he'd always needed her.

He trailed kisses on her jaw and kept fucking her.


His face was screwed up as he came, and she felt naughty for seeing him like that. The fact that nobody else had seen him make that face made her feel strangely intimate with him. Proud, almost.

He settled down after, pulling his sweaty body away from her while she adjusted her position in bed to get away from the wet spot.

"You're not like everyone else, Pans," he smirked.

She smirked back.

He didn't need to tell her he loved her. She knew.

She turned her back to him and snuggled in closer, forcing him to spoon her even though she knew he hated it because he had her hair in his face and they always got too hot.

Her hand was outside the duvet. He hesitated behind her, but then grabbed it in his own.