Authors Note: Just a little idea of mine. :-) And I need to write today.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope nope nope. All rights belong to JK Rowling (go her!)

Little bitsy note: If Draco's a bit sappy then, well, she's like his little sister (not to mention best friend) and I wanted him to be sweet although I managed to add some sarcasm in there.

Pansy's Father was killed by Voldemort.

Both Pansy and Draco are seventeen at the time.

~*~

She bit her bubblegum colored lips and tried to will herself not to cry. Her amethyst eyes filled with crystal tears and she knew she was about to burst. He was sitting next to her, upon the soiled grass and he wasn't quite sure what to do in situations like these.

"You okay?" Was all that came out.

"I should be," she said. "So what? My Father died. He killed many of other people's Fathers', he worked for Voldemort, he was mean and demented-"

"-and you loved him."

"Of course I did," she stated simply as the tears began to fall on her dark red cheeks. "How could I not?"

"-well, you just said-"

"I didn't expect an answer," she retorted coldly. "He was my Father, and I loved him, and it was just so simple."

"It's supposed to be that simple."

"Maybe." She agreed. "He used to always cook my Mother breakfast in bed every Sunday, and he never missed it once. I just thought it was sweet, the toast was always burnt and the oatmeal was always cold but it was the thought. It was the epitome of romance, I always thought. Mother always ate it, politely and didn't mutter a word."

Draco smiled grimly and put a friendly arm around her shoulders. "You, cold?"

"A bit," she sniffed as he took off his black velvet cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she smiled. "But you should have kept it on."

He should have known she wouldn't be very interested in the gallant act.

"You look freezing," she said.

"Better me than you," he said seriously.

"What do you think happens?" She asked.

"After you die?"

"No after you get sent to St. Mungos, yes, after you die."

"I'm not sure," he stated blandly.

"Yes you are," she said sternly. "We used to always talk about it as children, out on my porch as we sipped lemonade in diamond encrusted wine glasses."

"Then you know what I think," he said.

"I want to hear it, Nolan." She always enjoyed using his middle name because it embarrassed him and because she always thought about naming their first child that.

He gave her a steely glance, "Look, just because your Father dropped off doesn't mean I'm going to sit here and act like this-" he flapped his arms about.

"Fine," she said. "Be that way."

"Oh Cee," he said. "Don't do this to me."

She giggled. She knew that the only person who could melt his heart of steel was her. "Give."

"Fine." He agreed and then added "What was the question?" He asked.

"What happens after you die?"

"I've always thought that you live among the clouds," his face looked childish just then. "And you bounce on them, and sometimes, you take a bite out of them. They look like puffy marshmallows, ones that have been roasted to perfection."

The image in her mind made her smile, "Daddy always did like marshmallows. Do you think he'll be happy?"

"How can you not be happy jumping on clouds and eating marshmallows?" He smiled. "Cee, there are no tears in Heaven."

"No?"

"No."

"He, he wasn't a very good person."

"And what does that matter?" Draco inquired. "Your Father was a bloody nazi who was a power-hungry old prat. And look at you," he pulled a strand of ebony hair behind her ear. "He had this beautiful daughter who despite being an imaginable pouty little girl sometimes never fails to amaze me."

She smiled childishly at the compliment. "So you think-"

"-that your old man is happy right now? Yeah I do."

"Sure?"

"Beyond a doubt."

"Beyond all possible comprehension?" She asked, wiping away the last stray tear.

"Don't press your luck," he chuckled.

~*~

La Fin