Disclaimer: If you recognise it, I don't own it.
AN: I saw the first picture of Pansy Parkinson from the POA movie and she crawled into my head. Funny, I never really thought about writing Pansy before. This was written before HBP, so Blaise Zabini is a girl. The setting is near the end of OotP.
Morsmordre.
White Mudblood innocent smile like that, fucking smile like that some more in these halls he made for us for our kind, for the worthy ones in his colours silver and green.
In these times Pansy smiles at Draco and he smiles back at her, because if their fathers are locked away their real father (his heir and after they will all be his heirs) is born, born of bone and blood and flesh. Pansy and Draco and Crabbe and Goyle. They walk the halls thinking about killing and smile at each other lilylike smiles.
And it's good when she's alone and thinks about killing and lilysmiles into her mirror and brushes her glossy perfect hair, oh that's good too, thinking about a future with a foreverMark on her lovely arm and her perfect forever Draco beside her and killing with him, hmmm, that's just lovely.
She has no problem then, knowing that one day soon she's going to be called upon to kill.
Night falls over the castle and creeps into her dormitory and she pulls her dark (colour of those eyes, she hates those eyes) green curtains around her bed – night bleeds in with every candle blown out.
And that's when she dreams, closing her Slytherin eyes on her inside. She dreams that Weasley bitch or Granger, the Weasel King or (rarely very rarely) that enemy of the heir and in her dark dream under starless skies she tries. Almost every night she tries, she tries and curses and screams, less often stabs but though she can feel how hot blood can be she can never, never kill them. She can never do it – her wand snaps she fights like a kitten and can't wound they run and she can't chase, she has no strength no magic she can't do it.
That's when she wakes screaming in that way Slytherins do, without a sound and without a single movement but her wide eyes staring into the dark. It gives nothing back.
That fucking horror, the worst thing she has ever known is that horror of being unable. I have nothing, she wants to scream into the dark. I have nothing! Horror of being impotent – powerless – weak and unable like the softest Hufflepuff, she'd kill herself rather than feel that for real. And she screams like that and screams.
Blaise stirs when she wakes, every time, and before Pansy can begin to scream for real Blaise always crawls past the curtains and into her bed.
"Again?" she whispers.
"Jesus, Bee, Jesus Christ."
She's always soft and warm from her own bed, so soft that when she wraps her arms around Pansy she melts around her, racing thumping heartbeat slowing slowly slowing, breathing that familiar smell of Slytherin and Blaise.
Blaise's black hair on Pansy's pillow and spilling on their white pyjamas (Slytherin girls like white like virgin brides) and Blaise's mouth on Pansy's until she quiets and lies still. Sometimes they'll sleep then twined together twinned together dark girl and dark girl under the green covers. Sometimes Blaise will talk quietly to her until she sleeps. "We'll kill, it'll be easy. Feel that power crackling out and grabbing their hearts, it'll be so easy. You'll like it once you've had one – just that one and you'll be free of all these." Blaise holds her close and tells her after that first one she'll be fine.
Sometimes she's too terrified for these and Blaise moves with her, brings her out of herself for just long enough, sleeping after like dead people though dead people were never so beautiful asleep.
And during the day she stalks the halls with Draco at her side and their guards behind, prince and princess under the silver and green – our school for our kind – and when she passes her enemy she looks as deep as she dares into his dark green eyes.