Draco hurt inside. He wanted to punch all the windows in the manor bare-fisted until blood dripped down his knuckles. Love, love, L-O-V-E. So innocently sweet, yet so devouring...blood, drips like a crimson rain; pooling blood...He'd subconsciously put his fist through a glass-front cabinet of meaninglessly expensive china plates. It might have been his personal little pain trip moments ago, but in reality, he winced from the sting of having tiny glass fragments lodged in his hand.
Snape watched the Dark Lord fight his own inner demons and smiled semi-sardonically to himself.
Women. Damn them. So beautiful and divine yet so bloody...bloody what? He couldn't even finish his own sentence. They were like vampires and damsels at the same time. They could send a distress call straight to your heart and then leave you feeling much like a pile of dung. Memories from all those years ago...
Snape retreated back to his own personal santuary of photographs and Barbara Streisand muggle records.
*
Pansy Parkinson was not one of these vampires or damsels. She was an empty shell of a person.
Pansy simply didn't have inner-emotions. Not because she'd had them taken from her through a broken-heart or a dementor's kiss, but because they merely didn't exist within her. She liked to flaunt her expensive clothes(muggle and wizard made) around the manor, verbally abusing a house-elf or two on the way. She liked to drape herself all over Draco, and spend his galleons. Pansy went for the physical beauty. She never bothered to connect to Draco on any other level. Plumping up some throw pillows in the drawing room, she waited for Draco that evening, like a spider awaiting the fly.
He entered, his face stormy like a thunder cloud. Pansy seemed happier than usual, her makeup; excessive, her attitude; too strange. Yet her words were...direct to the point.
"I know about your little midnight excursions...and I know that these times are not used for obedience lessons with the mudblood."
"If you don't like it, you're most welcome to leave. I shall be informing Hermione that she can have your room and clothes." Pansy's face could not look worse if it had been hit by a hex. Draco continued.
"That's right. Leave. Leave tonight. But do not think about taking everything you have bought with my money."
"I'm the one in control here, so listen up Malfoy. I'm telling you now...you better go out beyond the poppy fields tomorrow and kill that little bitch, otherwise," She paused, pursing her dark full lips together, "I'll owl the Daily Prophet and tell them what a moron the Dark Lord is. I'll give them details of where this swinging little manor is, and I'll have you banished faster than you can say kapow."
Draco glared at Pansy.
"They won't be able to find this place...they won't even be able to detect it. Don't you think I would have made this place child and idiot-proof already?"
Pansy snorted, a sound like a cross between a pig and frog, and tossed the pillow from her hands over her shoulder.
"Wrong, pea-brain. I know all the spells that take your wonderfully dark charms off the manor. So," Pansy grinned liked a martyr. "I guess you'll be takin' sweet-cheeks out to play with the daisies bright n' breezy tomorrow, eh? Well, have a nice night, Draco Malfoy." She gave him a little finger-waggling wave and strolled leisurely out of the room.