Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.

Summary: This chapter takes place summer before third year, and then third year. Draco and Pansy are beginning to feel the hormonal frustrations of being young teenagers, and their relationship becomes a little more confusing for both of them.

Chapter Five

Slight of Hand

Draco Malfoy woke up in his own bed.

"The hell?" he muttered. He sat up and groaned, his eyes throbbing in their sockets. He heard the door open and attempted a glance over, wincing in pain and dizziness as the room pulsed in front of him.

"Morning," Pansy said.

"Ouch, don't yell," Draco whimpered. Pansy smirked and set a tray of tea and jammed toast on his lap.

"Rough night you had," she said. "I don't remember you being such a lightweight."

Draco snorted. "That's because I've never smoked Snape's stuff before."

Pansy blinked. "What?"

"Sh…I stole that stash from Snape's bedroom."

"Well what on earth does he need that for?"

Draco shrugged and took a sip of tea. He closed his eyes as the warm liquid coursed through him. When he opened them, wincing again at the pain of it, Pansy was staring at him.

"Pan," he said, setting down his cup. "Come here, could you do that thing with your fingers…?"

Pansy smiled and went around to the other side of the bed. She crawled up beside him and he closed his eyes, a low moan escaping his lips as she ran her fingers through his hair. He let his head drop onto her chest, breathing serenely, her touch tingling his body, her nails tracing the back of his neck…

"Mmm."

"Better?"

"Mhmm."

Draco ran his hand along her exposed thigh, carressing it with the rhythm of her heartbeat, which he felt pounding against the back of his head. His hand inched up the hem of her skirt, he could feel the warmth of her breath in his ear, the flutter of butterflies in his heart as his fingers crawled closer…

"Draco."

"Hm?"

"What are you doing?"

He realized that Pansy had stopped playing with his hair and he looked down to see that his hand was rested a considerable amount underneath her skirt. He quickly drew away and got out of bed, only to blush furiously when he realized that he was only wearing a pair of boxers, and his erection was pressing against the thin fabric. He turned away and placed his hands on top of the dresser, his back to her.

"Uh—" he stuttered.

"You should get dressed."

"Right."

"I'll be downstairs."

"Okay."

He watched Pansy out of the corner of his eye as she hurried out of the room and shut the door behind her.

"Fuck!" he cursed, tugging at his hair. He shut his eyes; a string of instances from last night flashed in front of them—Pansy wet in the lake—her seft lips moving against his—taking him out of his wet clothes—

"Christ, she's seen my naked!" He exclaimed, realizing that she must have changed him into dry boxers. No no, he thought. She probably shut her eyes, knowing her.

When he had dressed and gone downstairs, his mother and Severus were sitting together on the sofa, close to one another, speaking in low voices.

"Good morning, Draco," Snape said. His mother turned and smiled.

"Hello, sweetie," she said.

"Hello—where's father?"

The two adults looked at one another and Snape cleared his throat.

"Out," his mother said. She smiled, but Draco saw the dullness in her eyes, the tight skin around her mouth, as if smiling had become painful.

"All right then."

He strolled out into the backyard where Pansy was sitting in the grass, reading a book. He sauntered over—she looked beautiful in the sunlight, her black hair as shiny as a wet pebble, her pale skin sparkling like white sand. She looked up and smiled sheepishly when he sat down beside her. He wondered if she remembered the kiss—she must have, she had been less stoned than him, and he could remember it. Oh God, I was stoned, he thought. I was probably terribly sloppy…

"Where are Crabbe and Goyle?" he asked, interrupting his tragic thoughts and trying to keep the humiliated strain out of his voice.

Pansy shrugged. "I think they're still sleeping. They were trashed more than you."

"Ahehehehe…" Draco said in a high-pitched voice. Pansy turned back to her book and Draco fought the urge to kick himself. Calm down, he told himself.

Pansy yawned and fell back on the grass. Her knee brushed his thigh and he bit his lip as he felt himself harden. Oh God, he thought. The very touch of her knee made him horny.

"Draco, will you stroke my arm?" she asked him, smiling, her eyes still closed.

"Huh? Oh—uh huh." He brushed her arm lightly with his fingers, moving from the inside of her wrist to the crook of her elbow. He used to do this to her last year, when she was bored in class, or stoned and her skin shivered at the sensation, giggling. But she didn't giggle now. Her lips parted in a silent moan and Draco shifted, his erection rubbing against his pants. He closed his eyes, tried to think of something, anything, to turn him off, but all he could think about was the way Pansy looked in her sweater, the way she parted her hair, the way her eyes twinkled…

Pansy shifted in the grass to lie on her side, her back to him. He took this as a sign to stop, but when he pulled his fingers away she grunted and moved her arm.

"Stroke it…" she said, laughing a little. Draco grinned. That's exactly what I want to be doing, he thought. He let his fingers resume their touching, but this time, he let them trail along her back. He watched her body quiver as they lightly touched the back of her neck, and she let out the lowest moan, one barely audible, but enough to drive him crazy. He couldn't help it—he placed his hand under her shirt, her back warm against his hand, and slipped his fingers beneath the front of her skirt, relishing the soft feel of her skin, the silk of her knickers that he ached to slip off.

"Draco—"

"Oh—"

Pansy sat up and Draco pulled away.

"Well," Pansy said, not looking at him, her voice shaky. She stood up, brushing down her skirt.

"I'm going to go—uh—Snape—book…" she mumbled, and she hurried back up to the house.

Draco ripped at the blades of grass. "Damn it."

---

"Ah…my arm…ouch…"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Lay off it, it's just me."

Draco opened his eyes and gazed at her wearily.

"But honestly," she said. "That looks like a nasty scratch. Are you okay?"

Draco moaned in response. It was their second day back at school and Hagrid's first class had taken a turn for the worst, resulting in Draco receiving a nasty blow from a Hippogriff.

Draco tossed his head from side to side, wincing.

"What, does your neck hurt now, too?" she scoffed, but she brushed his damp bangs away from his face and sighed, his pale eyes settling on her.

"More pain medication?" Madam Pomfrey bussled over, looking down fretfully at Draco. "Miss Parkinson, excuse us."

She practically pushed Pansy out of the way. Pansy frowned and walked out of the room, heading out of the hospital wing. She had to go back down to the edge of the forest to collect her things, which she had left by Hagrid's hut in her hurry to follow Draco and Hagrid into the castle. The rest of class was gone, all except for Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley, who were standing together against a tree.

"Hope his bloody arm falls off," she heard Ron say.

"His cut wasn't too bad…I mean…but he was bleeding an awful lot…I hope Hagrid doesn't get him into trouble…" Hermione said. Pansy felt a tug of guilt at the worry in Hermione's voice and she glanced up at the trio as she walked by.

"Draco's fine," she told them. They looked at her. "Really. Don't worry about it."

The three looked at each other before Ron said, "Right. That's not what Draco will tell his father."

Hermione nudged Ron in the ribs. "Thanks Pansy," she said, although she too had a hesitant tone to her voice. Pansy nodded and walked on. She didn't much case for Gryffindors—and she didn't ignore the fact that Harry hadn't so much as glanced at her when she spoke. She didn't always like the way Draco spoke to Harry—it embarrassed her a lot of the time, but she couldn't really blame Draco for disliking Harry either. He seemed terribly arrogant. She shook her head and let the breeze take her mind off it—she didn't have time to worry about that right now.

---

The Great Hall was filled with sleeping bags and the buzz of talk about Sirius Black. Pansy, for one, tried to push the thought out of her head, but Draco wouldn't shut up about it. Now, curled in her sleeping bag, she lay beside Draco; Crabbe and Goyle were somewhere nearby, and Millicent was laying dangerously close to a burly seventh year, Marcus Flint, whom she had taken to as soon as she joined the Quidditch team. It seemed as though Marcus was obliging to Millicent's attention, the way he joined her for meals and stayed late after practice to help her with special "one-on-one" instruction. Personally, Pansy could have gone her entire life without the disturbing image of what "one-on-one" time probably meant.

"Pansy?" Draco whispered, pulling Pansy away from her thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Are you awake?"

"No, but I can carry on conversations in my sleep."

It was after midnight and the headboy, Percy Weasley, was strutting around, telling people to be quiet. Draco scooted closer and their eyes met.

"Can you believe that Black actually came into the castle. He must really want to kill Potter—"

"Quiet!" Percy snapped.

"Put a cork in it, Weasle," Draco snarled. Percy huffed and walked away.

"Well, that was exciting. I'm going to bed. Night."

"But—"

"Night."

She rolled over and scoffed at the sight of Millicent and Marcus kissing. She tucked her body deeper into the sleeping bag and tried to erase the scene out of her mind. She heard Draco shuffle and then his arm was sliding into her sleeping bag, draping lazily across her waist.

"Night, Pan," he murmured in her ear, and the rhythm of his soft heartbeat put Pansy to straight to sleep.