Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter & co. - just write what could have been.
AN: Reviews keep me going - please leave your comments, thoughts, etc.! :) hearing your thoughts! Me encanta escuchar sus opiniones!
As always, shout out to my beta, A.
Chapter Forty-Two
Pansy stared at the slumbering witch for a few more seconds before closing the door, but not fully, and going back into her living area. Shortly after Ginny Weasley's fifth cup and Hermione's third, the curly-headed witch started nodding off with a soft smile on her face after Pansy gave her a story about Draco when they were younger. She ignored the stare Weasley gave her while she spoke. Pansy led Hermione to the guest room to sleep, or nap, while she and the Weasley witch actually converse. Pansy was met with a penetrating stare. The dark headed witch sighed internally before retaking her seat adjacent to Ginny Weasley. They were both tipsy, but that only put Pansy on edge. Now it was time for the battle to truly commence.
"How long have all of you been hanging around?"
Weasley all but demanded. Pansy controlled her urge to roll her eyes at the insecure witch before her – she also couldn't blame the redhead either. Pansy secretly appreciated the loyalty and ferocity that Ginevra Weasley had for Hermione. She would rather have dinner with her parents than tell the witch that to her face. Pansy took a small sip of her red wine – they had switched over when Pansy had run out of pomegranates – and looked to her left as if fully pondering the question she had already the answer to.
"A couple of months."
Pansy answered truthfully. Weasley's pale eyebrows rose.
"And Hermione's already letting you dress her?"
Weasley asked, incredulously. Pansy couldn't help the smirk the appear on her lips; the Weasley witch was stuck on the fact that Hermione had allowed Pansy to help her get ready for Potter's birthday party and while that wasn't much of a feat to Pansy, it was beginning to feel like more because of Weasley's reaction. Pansy couldn't deny how lovely Hermione had looked in her options and was glad for the opportunity – having Weasley jealous was just a perk.
"What's going on between her and Malfoy?"
Weasley changed the subject and asked. Pansy did roll her eyes at Gryffindor.
"That's a conversation between you and Hermione, Weaslette."
She said. Ginny huffed but decided again to change routes.
"So you, Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini are all chums – right?"
Weasley asked. Pansy inclined her head. Not much of a question in her opinion.
"And you all are close to Hermione?"
Weasley inquired. Pansy inclined her head again and took another sip of the wine in her hand. The only Weasley witch took longer before opening her mouth, and Pansy assumed it was because of a more serious question regarding the curly headed witch that wassnoozing in her guest room, but she was wrong. The redhead looked away, finally, at her own glass before asking,
"How close are you with Zabini?"
Weasley's voice only slurred towards the end, indicating she was more drunk than Pansy, but that wasn't what surprised her. Pansy hid her disbelief but placed her wine glass down on the table before her. This was definitely not how her night was turning out to be, but Pansy did not complain.
"We have all been friends since childhood. Blaise and I have been close since third year."
Pansy answered. Clearing her throat, Weasley asked,
"Is he a good friend?"
Pansy's eyes narrowed at the witch. She was purposely avoiding eye contact and Pansy wanted to know why she was so interested in Blaise suddenly. She had known that Blaise and Weasley had frolicked after Potter's party, but that's all she knew. Blaise spoke about women like he spoke about his lucrative business ventures – nothing in the beginning and only giving full details when the contract was completed. He gave very few details to Pansy about Ginny Weasley, and while Pansy didn't mind at first, she was beginning to wonder if there was more than Blaise had given to her. Interesting, Pansy thought to herself.
"We wouldn't be friends if he wasn't."
Pansy responded. Weasley suddenly remembered why they were in this mêlée of friendship and turned back to stare to Pansy.
"She's happy?"
Weasley asked. The question took Pansy moments to reply.
"She is going to be."
Pansy said, with conviction in her voice. Pansy would be damned if Draco and Hermione didn't end up happy together – they were annoyingly perfect for another and now that they knew and working towards the beginning oftheir relationship, Pansy would be working overtime for her mates. Both witches finished their drinks in tense silence.
"You're going to the Greengrass-Avery wedding?"
Weasley asked, her question interrupting the silence that Pansy was starting to enjoy. Pansy raisedan eyebrow at the abrupt change of topic.
"I am."
Pansy answered and before she got to ask her own question if Weasley would be attending, she was interrupted.
"Why?"
Weasley probed. Pansy couldn't hide her bewilderment at the next hasty question coming from the Weasley witch.
"Why wouldn't I?"
Pansy questioned back. Weasley's stare also turned to a state of confusion as she leaned back into the loveseat.
"Aren't you involved with Daphne Greengrass?"
Ginny Weasley asked, her question slipping from her lips as if she was asking the time of day or if Pansy could get her another drink. Pansy didn't hold her scoff as she sat up, retrieving both and Weasley's cup from her hand. She yanked it from Weasley's loose grip. Pansy ignored the wide stare she received.
"You don't know shite, Ginevra."
Pansy snapped. Pansy walked into her kitchen to get them more wine, but they had finished the red they had been drinking. Pansy inhaled deeply before leaning up towards her cabinet to open her liquor cubby. She eyed the bottle of bourbon she had received from Blaise as a birthday gift from the States. Pansy was going to need something stronger if Ginny Weasley continued her intimate interrogation. As much as Pansy wanted to demand why Weasley would ask her that, she held her tongue – for now. She poured the bourbon in the empty wine glasses and then summoned ice to chill the drinks. Pansy walked back to her living room.
"I didn't mean to pry."
Weasley offered as Pansy came back, practically thrusting the glasses into her hands.
"Then why ask if you didn't mean to enquire?"
Pansy asked. She sat back down while Weasley shrugged her shoulders, wincing but drinking the brown liquor.
"I heard rumors of your love story. I thought it hadn't ended."
Weasley said. Pansy was more than captivated. She drank half of her own drink before placing the glass on her knee.
"Rumors from who?"
Pansy questioned. Pansy struggled to come up with names of a person that she and Ginny Weasley would both be acquainted with. She was coming up blank.
"Astoria Greengrass was my potions partner."
Weasley answered, imposing on her thoughts. Pansy laughed at her words, downing the rest of her drink as she felt heat in her stomach from all the liquor she had consumed. Of fucking course. Fucking Astoria bloody Greengrass, can't keep her fucking mouth shut, Pansy mentally cursed. Pansy couldn't help but to think of what else Daphne's little sister had been telling her classmates about her sister and her sister's ex-girlfriend. Pansy had only told those closest to her about Daphne and her – and threatened them with castrating them if they ever told a soul – but she knew the trio had not told a soul. Pansy had no clue who Daphne could have told besides her bloody little sister.
"Fucking Daphne."
Pansy whispered as she closed her eyes, tilting her head upwards. The Greengrasses are going to be the death of me, Pansy thought.
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Draco stared out of a window in his mother's study, purposely ignoring his aunt's perceptive eyes. They faced the Malfoy gardens – his mother's second favourite part of the Manor. He hadn't said anything since his mother announced the death of his father's soul and had taken to standing by the window while the Black sisters spoke. He wanted a drink. He wanted a smoke. He wanted Her –
"Draco, did you hear me?"
His mother's voice interrupted his wandering thoughts. He looked straight at her. The Malfoy matriarch wore a long sleeve, cowl neck, dark gray dress robes. Every inch of has covered except her milky neck and her hands; she kept fidgeting with her engagement ring. Her blue eyes sliced him – Draco could feel the sorrow radiating from his mother's eyes. He looked down.
"Apologies, what was it?"
He asked, softly.
"You need to research the Malfoy tomes for a spiritual funeral as you are the current Malfoy Lord, and they will only open to you or your spouse."
Narcissa said, her voice breaking in the end. Draco lifted his eyes to watch a sibling comfort another sibling; he was glad his mother and aunt reunited – she needed her now more than ever. Draco nodded once before looking back outside. He gave them their moment, knowing he couldn't possibly comfort his mother the way her older sister could.
"Cissy, go rest. Draco and I can handle some things for now."
He heard Andromeda instruct his mother. Draco didn't turn to watch the silent discussion between the pair nor when his mother left the room. He only remembered where he was when his aunt was standing beside him, placing a hand on his arm. He flinched before looking down at her. Perpetually the opposite of his mother, Andromeda Tonks nee Black wore an oversized, overall jean dress over a simple emerald, long sleeve shirt. Her curls were wild and short, held back by pink bandana. Draco's thoughts drifted over to the gardens behind him because of his aunt's outfit.
"Yes, Aunt Andromeda?"
Draco asked. He hid under his occlumency. While he didn't know how well his aunt was in the mental arts, he didn't want to chance it. His mother was excellent at it and so was Bellatrix – there was minimal chance that the middle Black sister wasn't.
"You should make an appointment with your healer and psychiatrist, Draco."
His aunt said, her dark gray eyes searching his face. Surprise seeped out and Draco quickly looked back away. He scolded himself for not seeing this conversation coming. Of course, his aunt would demand him to make sure to take care of his mental health – she was the one that suggested the muggle healer with their own potions, on behalf of his mother. However, seeing healers right now was the last thought on his mind. His mind continued to linger on brown skin, curly hair, and honey eyes. Draco wanted nothing more than to leave his blasted family home and his family problems behind, but he couldn't.
"You can't be there for your mother if you're not taking care of yourself."
Andromeda firmly said, gripping his arm, before releasing and leaving him to the task his mother ordered him to.
"Hermione would also like to know."
Andromeda's last words to him before she too left. Draco waited a full minute before making sure his aunt was gone before taking his wand from his trousers' pocket pointing it to a random point in his mother's study, glaring at the nosy portrait, before nonverbally blasting the wall. He did it again and again and again until he was panting from the magical exertion of casting nonverbally. He wanted to do more harm, more damage, to his surroundings around him, but his mother would have his head if he actually destroyed any of the family heirlooms around the room. Besides, there was also a high chance his mother – or his aunt – could walk in on his eruption.
"You're next if you tell my mother about this, Aunt Dora."
Draco sneered at the brunette witch in the portrait before calling out for Ellie. He knew which portraits were spies of his mother, this one being her favourite, it wasn't hard to guess would go back and tell his mother about his outburst. The painted witch sniffed the air and looked away, but Draco took the silence as confirmation that he didn't need to threaten the magical portrait anymore.
"Please fix that, Ellie. I'm sorry."
Draco said to his mother's appearing elf before leaving the room. His Aunt Andromeda was right about one thing – Hermione had to know before he spiraled once more, and Draco felt like there wasn't a third time the charm with his – that – witch.
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George stared at the full-length mirror in his bedroom. The master bedroom was a dark red, black in the dark. There were two gray doors leading out, one back to the living area of his flat, and the other to his private bathroom. There was one, dark wooden bed table beside his giant bed, and a matching wardrobe for his attire along with the mirror. His sheets were white – the only bright item in the gloomy room. The room was bare of any decorations, any personal belongings, and George knew Angelina was dying to decorate his bedroom. It was a blank canvas for her to get her hands on. She was almost done with the guest room. George continued to sit at the edge of his bed, shirtless, watching the mirror before him. If he stared at it long enough, he could see Fred smiling back at him. Sometimes Fred just stared back, sometimes Fred would frown as if he could still feel George's ever-present grief. Today, Fred was just staring back. He was also shirtless, wearing the same, gray pajama bottoms as George was. Their hair was messy at best and their skin almost glowing amongst the darkness. George closed his eyes and laid down on the bed before him. The soft comforter wasn't much reprieve from the inner turmoil he was feeling. He could still smell Angelina's perfume on his sheets. The lily scented perfume often brought a smile to his face – not tonight; it made his stomach turn. While he knew he and Angelina shared a common grief in the death of Fred, this was the first time he didn't find comfort in knowing that. This was the first time he was starting to feel like he had miscalculated their entire relationship and the former Gryffindor Chaser was still chasing after a ghost. He knew Angelina and Fred were in the beginning of building a foundation for a relationship before the war broke out, but he didn't mind when Angelina asked him out for coffee shortly after he opened the shop up again. He didn't mind seeing her as Fred did – a beautiful, athletic, witty classmate that he was attracted to. He even didn't let it bother him that he could see the sadness in her brown eyes whenever she thought he wasn't paying attention or looking away because he felt that same sadness when he looked at her. He didn't mind that he was dating his twin's ex-fling, and she didn't either. George grit his teeth together; he was starting to feel wrong.
"What's wrong, Gred?"
George heard Fred's voice ask him from the position where his mirror was at. His twin's voice was soft, barely there, but he could hear him. He sounded so far away. George sighed but didn't open his eyes. He knew if he did, Fred would stop talking and go back to staring silently at him.
"She called me Fred, Feorge."
George whispered. Fred didn't reply and George couldn't tell if he was relieved or not at the lack of words coming from his twin.
"I know she misses you. I miss you too. But now I can't tell if she's with me for me, or because I'll always be a part of you."
George confessed to the ghost of his dead twin. He felt the tears falling on his cheeks and began sobbing. Crying out for his deceased brother, his doomed relationship, and for the part of him that would never feel whole again.