Chapter Three
No One's Witch
Disclaimer: I do not own anything within the Harry Potter universe. No money is being made from this story.
Warning: Mild femmeslash, blood
Pansy remembers her mother telling her about this - if it means what she thinks it means, then she's never leaving this bathroom. The blood feels warm and somehow dangerous, running down her thighs, dripping onto the floor and her shoes. She knows there's a charm, or even a little cotton thing she can use to stop it, but she doesn't.
The room is cold, and she's shivering, but she's sure that if she leaves she may as well be dead. They'll be bonded over the summer, this summer, and these next few moments are all she'll have of freedom, all the time she gets as her own woman because of her body's sick clock.
Blood bond. Draco Malfoy. Pansy Malfoy nee Parkinson - she doesn't think she can take it. She wants her parents to be proud but she can't imagine being bonded to that prat. She wants her Gregory, calm and quiet and steadfast since they were babies.
New moisture on her skin - tears, streaming down her face silently. Slytherins don't cry, she tells herself, wiping away the tears. Footsteps in the hallway, and then Millicent - ugly, gargoyle Millicent, precious Millie - is there beside her.
"Oh Pans... here, let me stop that..." she whispers, quickly flicking her wand. Pansy is clean now, no sign of the blood except for a few stains on the floor.
"Millie - " she whispers, her voice a question within a question.
She's pressed against Millicent's breast, safe for a time. She knows that they will always be together, somehow, and with a moment of clarity slides her finger through the blood on the floor. Millie's looking at her now, confused, and Pansy just smiles.
"You'll never leave me, right?" she whispers. The other girl shakes her head. Pansy leans down, running her blood along her friend's lips. Their mouths meet, the blood mixing with sweat and saliva.
It's done, and elsewhere in the castle no-one notices save one blond boy, who feels something like a needle pricking his lips, and the taste of blood. He's been played for a fool, and will never know.
