My first fic evehh; don't expect too much. Review 'cuz I need pointers like nuts.
Out of character-
Fluff-
Kinda angsty-
You've been warned.
Of course it's not mine; all JK's. HAH you can't sue me now!
"You're leaving," she said, perched on her unmade bed, her voice flat. She looked so much like the Pansy from when they were eleven he couldn't bring himself to glance her way, lest she stirs up some distant nostalgia.
"Yeah, tonight."
"Are you scared?"
"Don't be stupid, Parkinson," he spat, turning his back to her. He didn't see her flinch and she was glad of it. She hated it when he called her by her surname.
He'd never called her by anything else.
"Are you scared, Malfoy?" she demanded again, nothing in her voice betraying her frustration, her momentary lapse of confidence.
"No."
"You don't have to be scared."
He looked at her, finally, and wished he hadn't. There was something in her dark, steady gaze that made him take a cautious step away from her, unreasonably shaken. There was something raw and bitter in the way she was looking at him, something angry and melancholy at the same time. He couldn't look away.
"I'm not," he spoke at last, his words hardened. She didn't buy it and he knew it, but they left it alone, neither eager for the truth.
The silence roared.
Both wished—dared the other to speak first. Both had so much to say neither knew where to start.
"I—"
"Are—"
They stopped, laughing dryly.
"What?" He asked. She stood and tugged idly at her robes, smoothing her hand over wrinkles only visible to her.
"Are you going to die?"
"I don't know, Parkinson."
"I don't want you to die."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes, Malfoy, I am."
He studied her and they were quiet.
"I don't want to die either," he murmured, more to himself than to her but she nodded nevertheless.
"God, I feel so old. We've gotten so old, Draco, when did we get so old? I don't want to grow up. Graduating seventh year in a month, can you believe it? And all I can think about is when things were okay, when we were just kids."
"We were never just kids, and things were never okay, love."
"Yeah, I know. But it's nice to pretend, isn't it?"
"We're Slytherins. We're not allowed to pretend. And things aren't supposed to be okay for us."
"I'm just a girl, Slytherin or not. I'm just a girl."
"You are so much more than just a girl."
She couldn't speak, wondering what he meant and not daring to ask.
"I don't need you, Malfoy," she told him, quietly, quietly.
"I know," he answered.
"But I can't lose you, either."
"You won't lose me."
"I'm losing you right now." And for a moment, just a moment, she let him see her, all of her, even the parts that weren't stone.
"You'll never lose me, never."
"Oh Draco, you can't promise me that."
And she was right, he couldn't. He couldn't promise her anything.
"You know, I never meant to love you," he said, partly to make up for it but mostly because he meant it and he had to tell her.
"You don't," she grimaced, but it was more a question than a statement.
"Yes, I do. I love you, Pansy Roselyn Parkinson. And I hate that I love you."
"Oh. Well, that's—"
"What?"
"I love you too, Malfoy, and I wish I didn't."
He went to her, then, and laced his long fingers into her hair; ivory against ink. He kissed her, hard, and held her against him, and they were still cold, so very cold—but they had each other to hold onto and for once they hoped for warmth.
He had to leave, then, and he didn't want to, but he had to leave.
She had to let him go, then, and she knew she might never see him again. She knew she probably wouldn't. And she didn't want to let go, but he had to leave.
She never told him goodbye and he never asked her to.
He just left.
And she watched him go.