Pansy watched. That was what she did.

Pansy didn't have real friends, most Slytherins didn't. Slytherins put up with each other and made alliances that would last for life times, sometimes even travel through generations, but Slytherins never had friendships.

Pansy saw how Harry Potter's face twisted in agony when anyone mentioned his parents, she saw how Hermione Granger would bite her lower lip and pretend like it didn't bother her when Draco called her a mudblood, she saw the ashamed look on Ginny Weasleys face when her familys financial situation was brought up, Pansy saw everything.

Pansy even saw how lonely some of the other Slytherins were. The dungeons were quite a lonely place, and no game of exploding snap or half hearted conversation with a could change that. The Slytheirns were alone. They all knew it, especially Pansy, but no one ever mentioned it. It simply wasn't talked about or even generally acknowledged, it was just something lurking in the back of everyone's mind.

She saw the line of hairline cuts along Stacey DaMour, a pretty fourth year's arms, and the savage gashes on her legs. Pansy saw them because she noticed things like that.

She knew that Draco Malfoy's father beat him, she'd seen him come back from holidays and summer break with bruises of all shades, but worst of all she could see the look of a broken boy in his eyes.

She knew that Blaise Zambini drank too much alcohol and that he'd hurt some of the first year girls in ways that she hated to even think about. She could smell it on his breath and on his robes at all times even when he hadn't been drinking, it was like he'd drank so much that the stench had become permanent, or maybe she just imagined it.

She knew everything about everyone in Slytherin house, just like they all knew that she threw up everything that she ate. They could all see how thin she'd gotten.

Pansy knew everyone's problems, but she never helped anyone, because no one in Slytherin really had friends.