Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.


Unhinged: Chapter 4


The dinner was planned meticulously. Then, it was tuned to perfection and I learned that Malfoy was a perfectionist. He saw something wrong with everything I did, naturally—my idea was too complex or on the other hand, too simple and mundane. Pansy didn't like shrimp, or she didn't like the color blue so I would have to get a different tablecloth. She could only be seated on the right side of the room, where it was furthest away from the kitchens. He was neurotic and nervous in a way that I thought was unfitting for him. Secretly, I laughed at the way his talking quickened and his hand motions became wilder with each passing moment.

"Are you absolutely sure that we'll have no disturbances?" He paused his rant on why porcelain plates were tacky to ask the same question for the millionth time.

"Damn it Malfoy, I told you."

"Fine," he said. "I'm going to go out on a limb and trust you."

"You have four hours," I told him.

"Four hours for what?

"The dinner," I said impatiently. "They can't spare the kitchens any more than four hours." Malfoy grew visibly disappointed at this.

"You are joking, aren't you? No? Four hours go by in the snap of a finger! I could be screwing her four an entire four hours, let alone dine and shag!"

"Your bluntness never fails to disgust," I muttered.

"My bluntness is not the point here," he reminded me.

"Better eat quickly, then," I said. "And while we're on the subject—please don't go in for a snog right after eating the garlic bread?" I reminded. Malfoy glared indignantly at me.

"Malfoys don't eat quickly. And they certainly don't have bad breath. Ever."

"Not even in the mornings?" I asked. His scowl lifted and he pondered this for a moment.

"Well," he answered after deep consideration. "Maybe in the mornings. Sometimes. But bloody hell, Weasley, even Malfoys aren't perfect."


Our suddenly brightened moods continued throughout the day. What could go wrong now? Now that we'd had a taste of absolute insanity, we came to long for and appreciate the normalcy we had been comfortably surrounded by before. Between both of us there was not a shadow of a doubt—Pansy would be fooled into believing he loved her. There was even the possibility of Draco loving her quite genuinely. Then there'd be no duping on our part, and we'd all feel much better about the matter.

"I'm coming," I told Malfoy on our way to lunch that day. He seemed to be walking faster than usual.

"Coming where?" he asked distractedly. I knew he was scanning the hall for Pansy. She was seated next to Goyle at the Slytherin table.

"To the dinner, you love-struck ninny," I said. "I want to see the outcome of my handiwork."

"And let you intrude on what only has to do with Pansy and I?" Malfoy hissed at me, trying not to be heard by anyone else. "Never." He shrank away from the crowd of the incomers, hoping that know one would notice him talking to me.

"I'll disguise myself," I said. "Harry has an invisibility cloak—"

"Of course you'll disguise yourself. But it's still a no," Draco said, his gaze still fixed on the Slytherin table.

"I'm set on this one, Malfoy. No matter what you say," I said. Malfoy's eyes darted to me, back to Pansy, then back to me. He noticed my resolute stare, the one that was trademark of all Weasleys. His shoulders drooped slightly. It was a sure sign of compliance.

"Damn it all," he cursed. "Fine, you little voyeur. But don't bother Potter for his cloak. Borrow mine and save yourself the embarrassment of having to beg, not to mention having to explain why you'd need it."

"Why, how kind of you," I said dryly.

"Just don't be late, will you?" he scowled.


The setting was absolutely beautiful. Sure, it was a little bit cliché—but you tend to forget that you've seen this overly used candle-lit dinner scenes thousands of times in books and plays when you see the real thing, shining right in front of your unworthy eyes. Pansy did not appear to be more than a little surprised, however. And she had the appetite of an elephant. The things you could learn about Slytherins in a mere few days.

"Have you been starving yourself?" Draco asked with a frown. I'm sure that that was his idea of a conversation starter. Pansy's fork stopped moving momentarily. I cringed as that dangerous look crept back into her eyes. Draco, despite all the claims of his impeccable manners, was yet unaccustomed to the sensitivity of some girls' feelings. Almost seven years of knowing her and he was still the only one blind to the fact that Pansy was a very easy to offend sort of girl.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're eating like a pig," Draco said frankly.

"Are you calling me a pig? Would you rather have me dab daintily at my mouth with a napkin?" There was definitely a warning edge to her tone now.

"I'm sorry." Pansy shook her head, as if to shake herself out of a spell. "I know that's not what you meant." Draco didn't say anything but he kept from looking smug.

"It's delicious," she said, looking at him with a small smile. "This was a brilliant idea. Thanks."

"You're welcome. No big deal. We'll have them more often from now on."

"I don't think that'll be very often, then," Pansy said in a passing way. But Draco did not skim over what she had said. Instead, without a change in facial expression, he laid down his fork on the table.

"Right. Care to speak plainly, Pans? You know I hate it when we talk in riddles. Wastes time."

"We haven't been seeing much of each other lately."

"We've been busy."

"Busy with what?"

"With other people."

"Now who's the one speaking in riddles, Draco? Being busy with other people my arse. What you really mean is, we've been busy seeing other people." I saw Draco's jaw clench and I knew it then. For someone who so proudly advocated bluntness, he hated it. He hated being stung every time. He swallowed it every time.

"I haven't been seeing anyone, for the record," he snapped. "So speak for yourself."

Pansy smiled. "You know what? Now is not the time to talk about this."

"No," Draco said. "No, no, no. Now is perfect."

"Draco—"

"I love you," he spat. It was no romantic declaration. His voice was almost vicious, but that could have simply been his uncontrollable passion. "And if you were just a little bit wiser, you'd know it and you'd treasure it."

Pansy sat very still. It made me wonder if Draco's words had simply gone right past her. But they hadn't. When she spoke, it was not out of reverence.

"Really?" she asked. "Love me? That's precious." She leaned across the table, closer to the seething boy. "Tell me—have you loved me well, then?"

"Yes," Draco said as if the question was ridiculous. When seeing the unconvinced expression on his lady's face, he recanted his words.

"Well, maybe not all the time," he admitted. "No. No, I haven't been very good to you. But I promise I'll make it up. I swear on it."

"Don't be a bloody idiot," Pansy said. "And don't waste your words. You don't love me, just like I don't love you. We're seventeen years old. I fall in and out of love rather easily, and I fall out of love especially easily with a sleazy bastard like yourself. Do you want to know why I've stopped feeling anything for you?" Pansy's hard burning eyes never left his face. I knew that he was forcing himself to do it when he nodded yes.

"Because you're a charmer, Draco," Pansy said with a slight chuckle, the kind that is chilling. "You were born a charmer. You distract people long enough for them to realize that they are just useful things to you. You're the type of person to calculate a person's worth in galleons. Now, in fear of being called a hypocrite—had we been in any other sort of relationship, I would have admired you for these traits. But as someone who I loved, and someone who supposedly loved me back? I don't care if you're the Son of God himself. You're not to treat me like shit."

Draco's face was now nearly unfathomable, but I knew he was feeling betrayal underneath his pale skin. The only thing that flickered in his eyes was the candlelight.

"I'm not tricking you, Pansy," he said calmly. "I'm not fooling anyone when I say that I love you."

"Maybe. Maybe I'm wrong. I don't care anymore. I'm not yours anymore."

"I don't understand you, Parkinson," he said, shaking his head. Draco stood up violently. My heart tumbled downwards, as did his chair.

"I don't understand you!" he bellowed, disbelief etched into every corner of his expressive face. "I never will! I have given you everything I can and still you reject me! What is wrong with you?" His plate clattered to the ground.

Pansy remained unmoved by his tantrum. She remained seated, too.

"In case you haven't noticed," she said without flinching. "I've been seeing someone else." Draco hissed at her admittance. It seemed to make everything ten times worse, her admitting that she was 'seeing' my brother. (Well, more than seeing, really.) The fact that she seemed to have no shame for it made it infinitely worse.

"I'm sorry you've wasted your night on me," she said and I think both of us could tell that the conversation was over. And yes—she was standing up too, looking Draco in the eye.

"I wasn't lying about what I said earlier. Dinner was delightful. But you've charmed me for the last time."


I expect that Pansy's outburst on him was a wake up call, really. And if it wasn't—at least it was one more person who thought him terrible. Maybe eventually, he would be convinced that he was an arsehole. On that night, he was a somber arsehole.

Both of us were back to being desolate. Our perfect plan had turned out to be…imperfect. It was mind blowing, really. It was like when all the muggles thought they had built the first truly unsinkable ship—and then the stupid thing did sink after all, defying it's very purpose. You live your life thinking: No, Pansy Parkinson and Ronald Weasley would never ever fall in love. Now there is an impossibility. There it is—something on such different sides of a defining line. Like parallel lines—they could never cross. We would all be dead before something like that happening. It is something you laugh at, not worry over as we'd been doing. This is why I'm convinced that sometimes, life is only about defiance.

"She's a hard one to break, isn't she?" Those were the very first words of a heartbroken Malfoy. I could tell he was trying to brush it off lightly, as if he knew for certain that she would come around quick enough, or that he simply did not care anymore. I felt pity for him. It was the first time I would see him vulnerable like this. I felt oddly out of place. Love for me had always been easy and natural and available. There was no fighting for it, no giving reasons. It was handed to me. How was it that this was so different, so jarred?

It was strange and comforting at the same time, seeing him on the verge of an emotional breakdown. Draco Malfoy, whom I had known to be someone that is as different from me as night is different from day, was sitting on the cold floor of the kitchens, woeful. We were both feeling and therefore, not so different.

"Maybe she's too hard," I said slowly. His head snapped up so quickly, I barely saw it move at all.

"What do you mean?"

"What are you going to do?" I cried. "Force her to love you? You've got to know your boundaries."

"Thank you for your concern, but I know them. I also know that I've been taught to never underestimate my own capabilities. The greatest shortcoming of a man's character is to lack in confidence. I refuse to stand idle while the very girl I want is off meandering with some no good Weasley." Malfoy said with gritted teeth.

"Just putting things in perspective," I replied tiredly. Too tired to even feel offended. I expected his customary snarl, but didn't receive one. Instead, he jumped up from his seat and began pacing the floor.

"By Gods," he shouted. "You're right. You're damn right. I'm wasting my time. I deserve better than her."

"I'm sure you do," I said.

"Well, it's settled then. No use wasting more time by thinking on it. If I'm done, I'm done," he said. "I suppose we won't be accomplices after all." He stood, breathing and thinking in silence. Then, his eyes grew clear again and he remembered me.

"Look. Just leave," he said. "I'm not in the best spirits tonight."

"Fine." I straightened up from my crouching position and turned towards the direction of the exit. "Goodnight to you, too."

I left him there to contemplate his life. I slowly walked out of the kitchens and wound my way back to the dorm. Although I had been realistic enough in getting him to call our deal off himself, I couldn't help but wish he had remained adamant in his need to sway Pansy's feelings for him. In a small way, I'd needed him to forever hope that we could control the lives and loves of two people. And though I was sure that Pansy would remain unconvinced of where her affections should lie, I couldn't kill that hope. Now we were only a group of four confused youths, wandering without aim through the corridors of our stone castle. It was worse than being lost. It was knowing where you were, but not knowing where you wanted to be.