Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.
Chapter Four
"What did she bloody mean, Draco?"
Draco scowled at his own stupidity as he entered his apartment. Why did he have to fall for Pansy's stupid little antics? He didn't even feel anything for her, yet he played into her flirtations like it was any old game. They weren't children anymore—he didn't need her to feel important.
Ron was so close behind him that he could feel his hot breath on his neck. His eyes were flashing angrily, staring down the back of Draco's blonde head.
"Calm down," Draco said, turning around and staring back at Ron, a little put off at the unfamiliar expression on his face. He had seen Ron agitated before, but he had never seen him angry, and especially not at him.
"Don't tell me to calm down," Ron said, slamming the door, making Draco jump a little, but the blonde's gaze didn't waver. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"
"It doesn't mean anything Ron."
Ron shook his head. "Then tell me what happened."
Draco's heart was beating so fast that he couldn't open his mouth, and his nostrils flared as he tried to draw in breath.
"Nothing happened."
Ron scoffed, folding his arms. "Well, I would bloody hope not," he said quietly, fear suddenly entering his eyes. Draco sighed. Ron is just afraid of losing me, Draco thought. But that's ridiculous. He was Draco Malfoy, after all. He knew what he wanted—if he didn't want Ron, he wouldn't be with him anymore.
Ron sauntered across the room and leaned against the dressed, a sharp glare still flickering in his eye. Draco sat down on the bed.
"So can you tell me what she meant?" asked Ron. He didn't sound as hysterical anymore, just upset, nearly worried or anxious.
Draco nodded. "She just asked me if I would like to get together with her some time." He looked up at Ron hesitantly, who looked away, his arms still crossed, his back and neck stiff.
"Well, why did she ask you that?"
"We do work together," Draco said. "I suppose she just wants our friendship to be what it used to be, since we're together so much now."
"Ha!" Ron scoffed. "I think it's a little more than friendship she wants!"
"I dumped Pansy for a reason, you know."
"Yeah, but before you know it you'll be hanging around each other, reflecting on old times, feeling that familiar comfort…"
"Right, Ron. That's exactly what will happen. And then I'll leave you for nosey, irritating, irrational, attention-starved little Pansy Parkinson."
Ron grunted, aggravated still, but Draco recognized that he was beginning to calm down. He walked over and sat down on the bed beside Ron.
"You swear there's nothing going on between you two?" he asked.
"I swear on my job that there is absolutely nothing going on between Pansy and I save the pathetic fantasies in Pansy's demented little head."
"Don't swear on your job, Draco. Swear on your love for me."
"Ugh, Ron," Draco groaned.
"Say it," Ron egged on, grinning in amusement. Even though he and Draco had been together for so long, he hardly heard the words "I love you" coming from his lover. Draco was just much more for actions than words.
"Okay," Draco said, sighing. "I love you, Ron."
His gray eyes gleamed as he turned to look into Ron's eyes, and they grinned at each other.
"Now that wasn't so hard," Ron said, taking Draco's hand. "Now come on, I'm starving."
---
Saturday morning was as misty and humid as mating Dementors, and Fred woke up on George's bed, the rosy-haired girl sleeping on his arm. He grimaced and pulled his arm out from under her. Poor George, he thought, I'll have to wash his sheets. Fred pulled on his boxers and stood up, scratching his stomach and yawning. It couldn't be past seven in the morning, and a sure flick of the wand reinforced that it was only 6:49 a.m. Fred went into the kitchen, glancing over at the couch and noting that George and his girl lay cuddled up together. He shook his head and grabbed a jug of milk out of the fridge. He pointed his wand at the cupboard.
"Accio breakfast," he muttered, and poured the cereal into a bowl. He ate at the table by himself, trying to clear his head. He had that dreadful dinner tonight, a stranger in his bed. George began to stir so Fred to give him privacy to let the girl down gently. When Fred got back to the bedroom the girl was still sleeping, so he sat on the bed and rubbed her back gently, let his fingers travel down the length of his spine, her skin hot against his fingers. She smiled and opened her eyes.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Seven."
"Ugh, early!" she groaned. "Ouch, my head." She sat up in bed, one of Fred's t-shirts hanging off her loosely, and he grimaced knowing that he would probably never get the stupid thing back, what with it probably being so sentimental to her and all. Girls, he thought, are so predictable.
She put her palms on her forehead and closed her eyes.
"I'll make you some tea," he said, leaving again. He wasn't a complete monster.
George walked over to his brother, glanced at the tea.
"Good idea," he said. Fred smirked.
"Is your girl as hung over as mine?"
"Girl?" George snorted. "Who cares? My hangover is catastrophic."
George stirred his tea, staring off into space.
"What are we going to wear?" he asked. Fred shrugged and walked back into the bedroom, holding the hot tea in his hands.
"Oh, thank you," she said, taking the tea. "I feel so sick."
"Sorry," Fred said, pulling on a shirt.
"My name is Mary, by the way," she said. Fred looked over at her and smiled.
"Nice to meet you, Mary."
She finished her tea and stood up, and to his surprise stripped off his shirt and pulling on the one she wore last night. She even folded his and placed it on the bed.
"Maybe I'll see you around, Fred," Mary said, and with a quick peck on the cheek she was out the door.
George ran into the bedroom. "They're gone."
"They are."
"Yeah," he grinned. He took a look at Fred's outfit quizzically. "You're not wearing that, are you?"
"Why, what's wrong with it?"
"It has a hole in the sleeve!"
"Bloody hell, George," Fred muttered, throwing his shirt off and sitting on the bed. "Do you know who all is going tonight?"
George scratched his head and took a sip of his tea.
"Okay, thanks then," Fred mocked. He turned to the window just in time to see a little brown owl sitting there—his mother's owl—and he crossed the room to open the window, hand the own a knut, and remove the parchment attached to its leg.
"From mum?" George asked nonchalantly.
"Mhm," Fred murmured. "Just reminding us to come tonight."
"Should we write her back or leave her in suspense?"
Fred smirked. "We might as well write her before she has a heart attack."
George nodded. "Well I suppose it won't be too bad tonight. I mean, there'll be enough people to divert our attention, like—"
"Charlie and Bill."
"Ginny's bringing Harry."
"Hermione might as well be there."
"And Ron."
"Ron might bring Malfoy."
"Ron never brings Malfoy, according to Harry."
"Pity," Fred smirked. According to Harry and Hermione, Draco wasn't as upsetting as he used to be, but Fred hadn't seen him in a while; not since their years at Hogwarts. He subconsciously ignored the situation—all that awkward Quidditch past and all that happened seventh year…
"We did forget someone," George mused, interrupting Fred's thoughts.
"Really? Who?"
"Fleur."
"Oh, how my heart flutters!" Fred feigned, clutching his chest.
George grinned. "Maybe this dinner won't be too horrible, after all."
---
Pansy massaged the lavender shampoo into her hair, humming to herself. She let out a surprised gasp when she glanced at her forearm, then rolled her eyes and picked up the soap. The Dark Mark still frightened her sometimes, like she feared that the evil emblem would come to life on her skin again, the snake moving through the skull, calling her…
Pansy thought suddenly of Draco's own mark, the one that had been forced on him when he was only 15. These permanent marks didn't only represent their service to the late Dark Lord; they were a symbol of how much alike she and Draco were. The similarities were monumental. They both came from rich, pureblood families, their parents were both former Death Eaters, they had both been in Slytherin…
The only reason Draco likes Ron is because he's pureblood, Pansy figured.
She rinsed her hair and stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her head and body. Finally, she thought, I can contact Bellatrix. She had come so close so many times—in fact, she was the one who caused Harry and the others to trip up on catching her, by causing freak accidents or false leads. Now that she could talk to Narcissa, she could find out about Bellatrix and they could pick up where the Dark Lord left off.
Pansy smiled, cradling the mark. The only thing she had to do now was convince Draco. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, she thought.