They were asking if you were around
How you was, where you could be found
I told them you were living downtown
Driving all the old men crazy
The boys are back in town
Lyrics from 'The Boys Are Back In Town' song written by 'Thin Lizzy' and performed by many others.
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They don't know how it ends, no one ever does and they don't know the changes that can be made in one evening's time. So they talk, idle chatter at first and then it becomes serious. And then they wish they never knew the truth.
Bleachers. Quidditch bleachers. And they tell so many tales.
"Your Father wants you dead," she laughed dryly as she dropped a mint in her mouth.
"Good reason for me to stay alive, isn't it?" He chuckled back as she handed him a mint. He popped it in his mouth and gave her a weak smile. "Isn't it? Goodness, Parkinson, answer me."
"I s'pose," she said in a very unsure way, "but you must watch out."
"I'm his heir," Draco said with a swift nod. "So there is no worry there, Parkinson. There, there," he patted her awkwardly on the back and she leaned against him.
"If you died I'd be fine you prat," she told him seriously. "I wasn't born to cry or mourn, you weren't either. And for your information, genius, your Father could easily get a new heir if you know what I mean."
He looked at her oddly, "if I were to drop dead some time next September you know you'd be a mess."
"Inside," she laughed, "inside I would be a bloody messed up person. Almost going insane, really. But outside--Draco, you know me--I love you. I couldn't let you go if I knew you still loved me."
He gazed at her. That messy charcoal hair dancing in the rain. Those chapped lips. The rusted looking cloak she swore was silk.
"You couldn't let go, eh, Parkinson?" He asked dryly.
"No," she shook her head, "not if I knew you were still up there loving me just as I loved you."
"Up there?" He questioned his voice stiff as his eyes moved towards the Heavens.
She didn't answer him, merely continued to suck on the dissolving mint. All she said was: "If you play with fire you're going to get burned."
"I like fire," he said with a sigh, "if you don't play with fire, Parkinson you risk even more."
"Your Father!" She yelled as she turned on the bleachers to stare into his crystal eyes. "You're bloody taunting him! You're saying: 'Come and catch me, I dare you!' You're saying: 'Kill me now, why don't you?' What kind of sick person are you? Guess what, Malfoy? He will kill you, he will catch you and he will win."
He pondered this, quickly and coolly. "I hope you have more faith in me than that, Parkinson."
She shook her head angrily and twisted a finger around her hair. "No such thing as faith, Malfoy. Just ignorance and wishful thinking."
He looked out to the distance the stormy night, the swirling gray and angel-white sky. A battle was going on up there. Good VS Evil? Maybe. More like Person VS Person. Light glittery stars began shining. Calling them back home. Calling them where they belonged.
"After Hogwarts," he began, "I'll buy myself a flat in Hogsmeade. And every night I'll go to the Three Broomsticks and you'll be there."
"Oh will I?" She commented wryly.
"You wouldn't miss a night," he laughed, "I wouldn't miss a night. I'd know you would come. You know I would show. That's faith, Parkinson. That's a fact, Parkinson."
"Are you pulling my leg?" She questioned as he reached out and tugged on her ankle almost affectionately.
"No," he shook his head; "we'll really go to the Three Broomsticks every night after Hogwarts."
"Firewhiskey," she said, "much?"
"Of course," he said quickly, "as much as you want."
"Drunk?" She said.
"Sometimes," he said with a sigh.
"Your Father will find us out," she told him.
"Let him."
"You aren't scared of nothing, are you, Malfoy?"
"No, Parkinson. I suppose I'm not."
"Fear keeps people intelligent," she said, "fear keeps people alive."
"We'll all die one day," he said, "and I won't worry about it. And if my Father wants to kill me then so be it."
"So be it," she said with a tip of her head. "So be it? How can you even bloody say that? You know how I feel about you! I've known you ever since forever, Malfoy," she spit upon the bleacher missing him only by millimeters. "And maybe it's 'so be it' to you because you don't care about dying because you're silly but to me--me, I care about you and I think you need that--don't admit if, you don't have to and you're stupid if you do, anyway--"
"Parkinson," he said eyeing the spit on the bleacher and wincing. "I'm not worried. So don't you be, either."
"My heart is in you," she said, "my heart is in you and if you die then it crashes too."
"Fine!" He yelled. "Fine! I'll give it back! Take it! It's your heart it wasn't meant to be in anyone but you--you know what a stupid burden you are?"
Small tears fell form her eyes and she gulped them back up. Her scarlet eyes becoming glittery. "I wish it was that easy! You can't just give it back! You can't just say it's nothing! It's something Malfoy and I'd die inside if you died!"
"Who cares about inside?" He told her. "All that matters is that you put up that stony wall and you go on with your life! Go on. I've been doing that forever."
"Let's just go inside," she said rationally as the wind bit her bare shoulders, "let's just go get warm inside." He nonchalantly tossed an arm around her shoulder.
And she felt even colder. But it was human contact and so she allowed it, and they were old friends and he just didn't 'get it' right now.
But later---
later he would.
"Scared of the dark, Parkinson?" He said nastily. "Nervous, much?"
"I just don't want to be with you now," she said honestly. "I really don't."
"Want to go home?" He taunted. "Want to cry to Blaise?"
"I'm not bloody crying!"
"Yes you bloody are!"
And she stood up and ran on the bleachers, finally finding the steps that led downward she began towards the hazy distance back to the castle. He noticed her running and ran after her. Because he wouldn't let her get away. Because she couldn't learn that it was okay to run.
What did he want, you say? He wanted her to sit there and scream her lungs out at him. He wanted her to tell him off in as many languages as she knew--to tell him just how he was acting. To tell him he was lying that he was afraid and just a silly boy who naught of what he spoke. That she had won, that he had lost. But she didn't. She had given up she had run away.
And that just wasn't happening. He sprinted after her and she ran faster, slipping out of her tarnished chocolate heels, just wanting to get away.
Just wanting to be lied to. To be honest she didn't want to fight anymore the feeling faded from her and she was so jaded.
He caught up to her just before she reached the brick steps and he grabbed her shoulders roughly as the sky quieted down.
"Listen," he said as she winced at the pain, "why did you run?"
She turned to face him and her cheeks were flushed from running and tears were leaking, her voice choking. "Because I wanted to."
"Some answer, Parkinson," he said caustically and released her shoulders, she made a move to run back inside and he grabbed her shoulder again. "Are you frightened of me?"
She met his eyes for a quick second and her head was pounding. "Malfoy," she said quickly, "I've known you since I was a child. There is no way; in any world I could ever fear you. You're a child, we're both children, we're almost adults though and I'm not scared."
"You're a liar," he said calmly.
She peered at him as though seeing him in a new light, sighed and said loudly: "What can I do to get me inside?"
"What're you smoking, Parkinson?"
She almost laughed but bit her tongue quickly. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. "I'm not a brat," she said, "I'm just lonely."
It was so random that he found himself staring at her and then to the ground quickly. "But you've got me."
"You've got my back, Malfoy. You don't make me feel any less lonely. There's a difference."
"What are you trying to say, Parkinson?"
"I think I'm saying it!!"
He took her hand and let her like a small child back to the bleachers. He sat her upon one and gazed at her. The darkness surrounded them and she pouted at being led back.
The monsters stayed here, under the bleachers and they bit your soul tiny piece by tiny piece. They lived on your soul and your thoughts and your memories and they lived on the misery they offered to you as a gift.
The young man turned to face her and she was so confused and unsure by this time and she just gazed back. She was so out of it, so tired, so exhausted. He would win if she weren't sharp, if she weren't witty so she must take a deep breath and be ready to face him once more. Or as many times more as it took.
"I was crying," she said nonchalantly, "you said I was and I said I wasn't and I really was. Like a baby, Draco. I was crying like a baby. And I lied to you and I knew I shouldn't have. I don't know anyone better at lie detecting than you. And I was crying, Christ I was. Hard and choking and sobbing and I was about ready to spit it hurt so bad to keep it in. But I tried, do you know that? I tried to hold it in for you because I have to be strong for you. Because I can't not do it. Because this is the way it goes, kid."
"Shhhh," he said, "just stop crying, now. Because I don't like it when you do that."
"Why not?"
"Because you sound like a little kid."
And with a finger to her lips, and a small gasp, and then a collapse on his shoulder, a hush, a dirty foot upon velvet black slacks, a tired girl's angelic face, it was over. At least for today. For it was morn' now and they had been together for so long she couldn't even tell the difference when they were apart. He wrapped an arm around her and hadn't the heart to take her back to Hogwarts that night. He didn't want to shake her; he wiped away a salty tear from her cheek and kissed the finger that picked it up.
Her lashes closed and she was asleep now, at least for a few hours, the dew and the haze was sure to wake her up soon her then later. A September night that had gone unexpected and made a serious turn.
It was a whirlwind of hate and pain, love and misery, coldness and warmth. He should probably take her back up to Hogwarts but it was no difference, really. And the coldness warmed his heart.
And it was contradictory and backwards and sick but it did make sense. For he had seen the world like this now for so long that right meant wrong, wrong meant right, evil meant good and friendship meant loneliness. He rubbed her shoulders and she stirred slightly.
In good time, anger turns to pain and pain to anger. People turn to glass and stone--depending on class. The poor revolt and the rich get angry and resentful and comment that: "It isn't my fault." And it's no one's fault, really. It's just the way the world works. The people get tired from not getting paid enough and they get sad and become shells that still work because they've never known any different. The lonely now see loneliness as essential to survival and are so weak now that they are under no one's wing--they are no one's responsibility--they are just sad. People who get treated awfully begin to rationalize it and thus problems begin for when you rationalize things--it's always your fault.
And when she's asleep in his arms it is bitter and sweet like sugar dropped into a frying pan of bitter maple syrup--collected from trees that bore no fruit. And nothingness is made something and people are made marble and allowed eternity.
And Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson are made immortal. The monsters eat their souls but they can't feel it, their memories are carved into old bleachers sat on by many. Many lovers. Many friends. Many enemies. Their tales are told by many who forgot about them, and many who try not to remember. They fit perfectly on the bleachers together and their souls remain there.
For what is wrong and what is human nature cannot be made right.
And they are exhausted.
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End