Pansy

Graham's shoulder nudged playfully into Pansy's as they walked to breakfast.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked, a grin pulling up the edges of his mouth.

The smile faded from Pansy's face. Had she been smiling? She had. She'd been thinking of Weasley's warm, calloused hand taking hers to shake on their deal, to help her down from the tree. The two of them had walked side-by-side until the forest began to clear and then, without saying a word, Weasley hung back and let her put some distance between them.

Graham suddenly came to a halt and Pansy slowed, turning to look back at him. His brow was creased.

"Don't stop," he said, mouth tipping down into that petulant pout that she found so attractive.

"Don't stop what?" she asked, brow raising. The coolness of the dungeons nipped at her and she drew her cloak around her tighter. They were running late to breakfast and the corridors were empty aside from them.

"Smiling, Pans," he said softly. She let out an uncomfortable breath and looked down at the space between them. "I just wish you were smiling because you were walking to breakfast with me at your side. I want you to smile because you're with me."

Pansy looked up at him, guilt crashing through her, but said nothing.

"How do I fix it, Pans?"

She swallowed thickly and took a step away from him, opting to lean her shoulder against the cool corridor wall.

"You don't even like me, Graham," was all she said, but her eyes drifted back down between them again. And then he was there, right in front of her. Startled, Pansy stepped away, but her back met the stone wall. She tried to duck out around him, but he put his hands on the wall to both sides of her.

Merlin, he was cross, wasn't he? Panic lodged a knot in her throat.

"That's not true, Pans," he said, tone quiet, causing the anxiety inside her to quell slightly. She looked up at him then, truly looked at him, up into his dark eyes towering over her. And in his eyes she found a torture there she'd only ever seen on those late nights last year when he'd opened himself to her completely, told her of all his father put him through, the damage of his childhood, the scars. It was so unlike his usually cruel mask - one he wore so frequently that it nearly became him, that she nearly forgot it was a mask, after all - that it stole her breath.

This was the side of him that got her in trouble, the side that drew her in like a moth to flame, that slyly stroked her ego into thinking she was the one he'd chosen to open himself to, that she was perhaps the only person that could heal him. This was the side of him that tricked her into thinking she was special, elevated, different from all the others. No one else knew what face hid behind that cruel mask of his. But, Pansy Parkinson did. Everyone had seen his anger, his penchant for cruelty, his indifference toward the pain of others. But only she had ever seen him cry.

She forced herself to hold his gaze, forced each word out as if it pained her to hold her ground for once. "If you cared at all, you wouldn't jerk me around like some rag doll."

The breath that left him was a shudder. "Pans," he said quietly, dipping his head to rest his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry. If you would have read any of my letters over the summer, you would know. I nearly went mad not hearing from you."

Pansy's eyes had slid shut as he brought their heads together, but she opened them then and twisted her head to the side. Graham didn't pull away, only let his forehead rest against her temple.

"You didn't act sorry at the party," she said quietly. "Or when you dragged me into the boys' loo and scrubbed my arms so hard I was crying."

"I didn't know how to act, Pans," he said against her hairline. It caused a tingle to erupt through her, spreading bumps over her arms. "You didn't talk to me all summer, would hardly acknowledge me at the party, have been distant since we've been back at school."

"Why would I want to talk to you when you keep hurting me?" she said, trying to slide out around him, but his arms were like a steel cage. She could feel herself slipping, falling for this stupid act of his, repeating the same cycle they'd been in for over a year.

"You know I'm not good with emotions, Pans," he said, the heat of his lips brushing against the skin of her temple. Flitters ran through her stomach. "You know what he did to me, I'm so sorry, Pans, I'm sorry."

What he did to him. What his father did. Beating the emotions out of him, creating that stoic cruelness. She'd seen the scars on his back from the belt, just as she'd seen the real, broken Graham. The one with her now.

She relaxed into him, every bit of her resolve melting away. "Graham," she whispered, a small sigh escaping her as he traced his lips over her eyebrow.

"I will never do it again," he said, pulling his mouth away. His arms dropped from the wall on either side of her, but they both knew she wouldn't pull away now. With a free hand, he gently tipped her chin up toward him so that his lips danced across hers. "You're the only person who understands me, Pans. I will never let you leave me. I will never let you want someone else."

Pansy tore her mouth away from his, heat rising on her cheeks as the guilt rose inside her. Was she that obvious? Did he know who she thought of that kept her up all night? Did he know she had Venomous Tentacula seeds in her bag for him, that she was excited to see him, that she'd bargained against Graham the night before?

"Look at me, Pans," he said, guiding her face back toward him.

"I've not done anything with anyone else," she said quietly, afraid his gentle tone was perhaps the calm before the storm. "I've never cheated on you, Graham."

He held her chin in place, studying her, running his thumb along her bottom lip. So much attention after nothing for months was making her lose her head. Pansy's lips parted with a small huff, cheeks stained pink.

"I don't think I could handle the thought of you looking at anyone else like this," he said lowly, dipping his head to run his mouth along her jaw. Everything inside her was humming, going haywire, losing any last inch of suspicion against him.

"Graham, you're the only person I've ever done anything with," she whispered.

"I wouldn't be cross," he said, lips moving down to her neck. His hand, still on her chin, tightened slightly, tipping her head back and exposing her throat. "I've been terrible to you. But you cutting classes, leaving early for meals, being distant, I can't take it, Pansy."

"Graham," she said, heart thumping in her throat, strained against the palm of his hand. Graham's fingers tightened again, enough that it was difficult to draw a breath. "I've not done anything with anyone, I swear."

He pulled his mouth away and looked at her, her head tipped back and neck exposed, his fingers squeezing softly into the flesh of her throat. With his free hand, he laid a finger on her forehead.

"But you're not with me here, Pans," he said, loosening his grip on her throat. She sucked in a long breath. "You're with someone else up here."

Is this the part where he snapped? Where would he hurt her this time? She was so shocked she couldn't even speak, just opened and closed her mouth several times.

Graham let out a long, disappointed sigh, her inability to speak being all the confirmation he needed. There was such a look of loathing - though if it was for her or himself, she couldn't tell - built behind his eyes.

Pansy shrugged away from him and took two steps for distance, keeping her back to him. "Don't look at me like that," she said quietly. "I just...I'm really confused right now."

She could feel him looming behind her, growing closer, and was unsurprised when he wrapped an arm around her chest and pulled her back against him.

"I won't let him have you. You're mine."

"Girls are not things to be owned," she said, trying to sound firm and failing even to her own ears. "I am my own."

Graham hummed, moving his mouth down to the curve of her neck. There was a confidence in the noise that both frightened and excited her. "I'll change your mind on that."

His lips drew nearer and nearer to the place she found incredibly sensitive right beneath her ear and Pansy froze. His mouth traced over the space and she shuddered in his arms. "Graham," she said, pleading in her low voice, but unsure herself if it was pleading to stop or go on.

"I can make you forget all about him," he said, each hot breath causing her to shiver. "I know the secret spot that will make you putty in my hands."

Pansy was having a hard time concentrating. She knew she should push him away, to get some space, but his mouth was so hot against that one sensitive place of her neck - the one place he could kiss her and make everything in her head go fuzzy.

When he lapped his hot tongue along her skin, the corridor went out of focus. Pansy reached up and grasped at the arm he held around her, trying to steady herself.

"When you think about him, does he know where your secret spot is?" he breathed, then licked the place again and caused a small mewl to flee Pansy's lips.

"No," she breathed shakily. He nipped at the spot with his teeth and a strangled half-noise clawed its way from her.

"I'm the only one who knows how to make you feel like this, Pansy," he breathed, lips soft over her sensitive skin. She whimpered. "I love the noises you make for me. Turn around."

Pansy did as she was told, all sense thrown out the window with her body buzzing and humming. This was how he liked her. Compliant, open to any suggestion he would make.

He stared at her parted lips, her flushed face, her dilated eyes. And then he kissed her hard. And Pansy kissed him back.