Disclaimer: I don't own any Potter related material in this entire story. (Hopefully, that means I won't be posting another disclaimer on this story.)
Author's Note: Wow! I love all of the feedback! Thanks so much! If anyone is interested I have a C2 archive entitled Such a Pansy where I'm putting the Pansy ships I've read. If anyone has any stories they would like to add, just tell me at the end of your review. Also, I play fairly, so if you read me, I'll be sure to repay you by reading one of your stories (if you have any stories from a 'verse I'm familiar with, and it has ships I somewhat like, etc.).
A few hours had passed since Pansy had mailed the letter to her parents, but she had yet to receive a reply. She wandered the school like a soulless husk fading into the background. Without realizing where she was, she found herself walking into a lavatory. It had been her habit over the past few months to visit this particular restroom on mornings when the thought of ham and eggs literally made her sick. She sat on the edge of one of the driest sinks until a ghost appeared before her.
"It wasn't Draco."
Pansy stared through Moaning Myrtle, surprise on her face. The statement had been so sudden. 'It wasn't Draco.' He wasn't a murderer. "Are you certain," Pansy breathed.
Myrtle nodded, a grim look on her face. "I knew you wouldn't ask any of the others. You wouldn't want them to know that you were hiding last night, now would you? I thought you would want to know, though. Professor Snape did it, not Draco."
Pansy swallowed relief, but pain managed to seep in through her pores. Draco had lacked the hate; she had said that very sentence many times in her mind. Part of her had expected him to overcome his emotions and complete his task. After all, his family was on the line. Pansy slid off of the sink with a terrifying thought crossing her mind. What would the Dark Lord think of Draco's weakness? Was Draco on his knees now, begging for forgiveness, or had the Dark Lord been so pleased with the death of his enemy that he had ignored her lover completely?
"He cried, you know. A lot." Myrtle floated closer to the Slytherin, a frown on her face. "Did you know?"
"I suspected," Pansy whispered. "He didn't like to cry in front of me; people like us aren't supposed to cry. But I saw the fear in him." She wanted to close her mouth, to walk away, but the words expanded in her throat until she couldn't breathe. Her eyes shot up. "Damn him, the bloody coward! If he was going to play that part, he should have just left with me!"
Myrtle floated back a few paces. "Perhaps, I shouldn't have said anything. I don't get much practice, you know, socializing—not like you do."
"Me? Socializing, as you put it, is a job. I take no pleasure in wearing a mask to suit every party I attend." Pansy let a shallow breath escape her lips and attempted to smile. "Forget what I said. It's of no importance to me."
Myrtle put a fist beneath her chin, propping her elbow on thin air. "I don't take any offense. How could I—I'm just a ghost. Obviously, my feelings mean nothing to you, you breathers. . ."
Pansy rolled her eyes and shifted her weight uneasily. "I appreciate the information, Myrtle. If there's anything I can do. . ."
"Well," Myrtle grinned. "You could come back and visit. . . People never visit me because they want to. They always need something," she moaned. "Or they just stumble upon me. They never want to talk."
Pansy held her small bag close. "I can't do that, Myrtle."
Myrtle nodded as if she was expecting the answer. "So you're not coming back then? Pity. Oh, well. . . There is something else you could do for me."
"State it."
The ghost shrugged her shoulders. "I just want to know whether it's a boy or girl, that's all."
Pansy's blood ran cold. Was it that obvious? "Keep your mouth shut, spook!"
"You don't know yet?" Myrtle seemed unaffected by the Slytherin's anger. "It's actually a good thing you're leaving. A few more weeks and your stomach will start to pooch. And you've been so sick; I'm surprised no one has put it together yet."
"Don't you tell a soul!" Pansy shouted.
"I promise," Myrtle said without hesitation. She frowned. "Don't worry. You're secret's safe, unlike everyone else's. . . And no one knows yet—I would have heard."
"Thank you," Pansy snapped, the words foreign to her lips. She turned on her heel toward the door.
"Don't you want to know how I knew?" Myrtle asked.
Pansy didn't face the ghost, but her hand rose to her abdomen protectively.
"How I knew about Draco that is?" the ghost amended. "There was some bathroom chatter in the girl's lavatory. . . the one by the Hospital Wing. I heard two of Harry Potter's friends talking. Harry was on the tower last night, under an invisibility cloak. He heard, saw, everything. Too bad he didn't mention what Draco said before Snape did the deed. . ."
Pansy bit her lip. The statement filled her with even more questions. Did Snape beat Draco to the punch, or did Draco decide to not kill Dumbledore willingly? Did the Headmaster injure Draco—was that why he was unable to kill the old man? She looked over her shoulder. "Thank you again, Myrtle."
The lavatory door slammed shut as Pansy walked toward the steps. She hated Harry Potter, as every good Slytherin should, but she needed to see him before she left the school. She reached the ground floor and slowed, realizing that she had no idea were the boy-who-lived was at the moment. She clenched her fists in frustration, but one thought lessened her tension. The funeral. Dumbledore's funeral. It would have to take place soon enough, and when it did, Harry Potter would have to be there. He loved the old man like a grandfather, and he wouldn't skip giving his respects (or soaking up the limelight, Pansy thought bitterly) for anything in the world. Yes, that's where she would find him. Then she would have her answers.
E/N: I hope this chapter wasn't too awkward will all of the dialogue and the lack of feeling. Don't worry, this story does have a plot . . .