For all the beautiful things about herthe long line of her neck, her sweet mouth, the curve of her pretty face, pretty hair, pretty eyes—the first thing that came to mind when Neville thought of Pansy was how very cold she was, in all respects. From the chilly front she presented to icy fingertips he fought to warm in his palms. She was wintry and stoic and he was patient and warm and happy to wait for heralways.
It was all business with her, Love was just another obstacle on the way to Success or Happiness, but not linked to either of them. It was a separate entity entirely and something that was not necessary to achieve anything. In fact, as she had told him many times, it was only a hindrance—but she never avoided a chance to be around him, even if the only words she could spare were insults. Neville was patient though, quietly waiting for her to finish with her little tirades so he could hold her hand again, be near her again.
Even the hesitation he could feel coursing through herevident in the tenseness of her pale hand, the rigidity of her stance—could not discourage him. Eventually she would begin to warm; the chill receding as her eyes softened and trimmer, smaller hands quietly held and steadied his larger clumsier ones; all of the insults and secrets and pretty-false smiles falling away to reveal the smallest hint of a more warm and intimate part of her being.
"Stupid," Pansy said, icily, but the upward curve of her lovely mouth betrayed her. "How can you accomplish anything when you spend all your time waiting around?" Neville shrugged, a nervous little smile playing on his face. It was safer to remain silent when he was with her, to avoid the troubles of clumsy words and meanings. It was well worth it in the end though, when all the patient accepting silences would bear fruit and she would move the tiniest bit closer.
