Oh, my dear and faithful readers. I have no words of apology that could ever make it up to you for my lack of updates. I can only assure you that I will finish this story, as well as Tangled Web. So, without further ado, here is the next chapter of Woman Scorned. Thank you for your dedication and your patience.

She became unaware of the passage of time as she just sat there on the cool stone floor, her mind drifting amidst a sea of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She was proud of, and disgusted at, herself.

She had finally accomplished her goal: to humiliate Draco, to make him suffer as she had when he had so unceremoniously left her. She remembered now how she had cried, in a cellar of all places, over the love he had so carelessly thrown away, and all for a casual fling with that cow, Violet. His past wrongs justified her actions, she reasoned. He had it coming and should not have been surprised at such retaliation. A Slytherin always returns an injury; an eye for an eye.

And yet, there was something akin to remorse about it all. And that was why she was disgusted with herself. Surely she had no reason for such a feeling, however a small, lingering morsel of regret it might be. But she felt her eyes start to sting once again, hinting at the next string of tears that would streak down her face. Pathetic that she would even allow it.

She released a long, heavy sigh. Those had become so frequent the past few days. For the first time since she ended up at her current location, she took a glance around. She had not cared to where she ran, so long as she got away from the chaos that she had created, and damn her if she did not succeed for she really had no clue as to where she was.

"Oh, well, of course," she muttered. "It figures I'd actually get lost." To her left was a long, dark hallway. The paintings and tapestries had long been abandoned by the prominent figures that occupied them during the day. On her right was the stairway she could only assume she came from. Well, that's a start, she thought. The hard part was forcing herself to actually want to go back. But she decided it was the best course of action lest she be caught by a professor, or worse, the Bloody Baron, crying and moping alone in the dark.

She came to the bottom, and nearly screamed out in fright as a large looming figure nearly knocked her over.

"Parkinson, it's me," the figure whispered fiercely, arms reaching out to Pansy. It was Bulstrode. Pansy tried to calm her nerves.

"What are you doing! I'm surprised I didn't die of fright!" Pansy reprimanded, in a low voice.

"I waited for you to come back. When everyone else left the common room to go to bed, you still hadn't returned." She shrugged her shoulders and looked down at the ground, slightly ashamed to admit such emotions of friendship as being worried. Pansy, however, was grateful, even if she couldn't voice it out loud.

"Idiot. Of course I would wait until everyone left to come back," Pansy said. "Is . . everyone gone?"

"Hm. There was a long silence after you left. No one wanted to look at Malfoy. No one even talked. They hovered and just slowly kind of left. He was one of the last ones to go up. Him and Crabbe and Goyle."

"I see."

"He just went right back to his seat and stared at the fire. Didn't pay anyone any kind of attention. It seemed like your rejection never even happened, the way he was going on."

Pansy knew that reaction. It wasn't brooding as the unacquainted individual may conclude from observation. Nor was it indifference. It was the quiet anger, the vengeance-plotting sort. Well, at least that was a good sign. Normal, spiteful Malfoy she could deal with. It also meant her plan worked if he wanted to get back at her, which in turn made it easy to forget that she ever regretted getting back at him. Very convenient.

"Parkinson, you should wipe your face. You have eyeliner running across your cheeks."

Pansy felt slightly embarrassed and quickly took a swipe at her face with the sleeve of her shirt. "How can you even see that! We're practically in the dark!"

"Th' moon is shining. And your face is really pale." Millicent cast her an inquisitive glance. "You cried."

Stupid Bulstrode and her accusations, Pansy thought. "Tears of frustration, I assure you. I had. . . gotten lost for a few minutes."

"That lie only proves what a fool you are, especially if I don't believe a word of it," mumbled Millicent. "You would never cry over something so stupid."

Pansy threw her arms up in the air. She didn't even know why she had bothered to lie about it. Millicent, despite her lumbering figure, was actually very sharp and quick-witted. And very perceptive. "Alright fine. I may have been angry at myself. Angry because I should have felt triumphant, you know? But instead I felt. . . bad. I don't understand how that can be though, because he deserved it!"

"Parkinson, why don't you just do yourself a favor and admit that you love him. Still."

Pansy stopped dead in her tracks. "No, you meant to say 'did love him', right? Because I certainly don't love him anymore." Oh, she really was a liar these days it seemed. And getting worse at it as the days went by. Damn, Bulstrode was right. Again.

Millicent rolled her eyes and snorted. "Does that help you sleep at night, then? Lying to yourself smooth out your conscience okay? Ha! I bet not. You obviously love him if you feel bad about what you did. How stupid can you be, Parkinson!"

Pansy was taken aback at her use of language. When had she gained a backbone? To call Pansy an idiot was to commit reputation suicide! And to deliver such a speech with a condescending attitude! Impudence! It must be because it was a mere two days until graduation. Good for you, Bulstrode, she thought.

"I didn't expect it to be difficult, honestly. I made a plan and I wanted to see it through. It's not hard, as I'm sure you are aware, for a Slytherin to pursue revenge." She laughed. "I would just close my eyes and picture him slobbering all over that Violet girl. I remembered that I loved him, and how much I loved him, and how in the end, it meant nothing to him."

"A fine motivation for vengeance, to be sure," said Millicent.

Pansy nodded her head. "Yes, but then, whenever he was around, the hatred would subside, slightly at first. It felt as if we were carrying on as we had before. As if he had never stomped on my heart. And then it came to a point where the hatred was consumed by how I still felt for him. I didn't figure for it in my plans, really. I thought that the hate I felt would be enough."

Silence took over their conversation until at last Pansy turned and looked at her companion. "I still love him," she admitted at last.

Millicent nodded and offered knowing smirk. "I know. But it is a pity that you do. People in our position, of our kind and of our house, we're rarely given a chance at such a luxury as to actually love someone. It's rare because it is the first thing that must be forfeited when trying to preserve the purity of the bloodline. I also think it confuses the hell out of all of us, who are so unfamiliar with it."

"He broke my heart, Bulstrode."

"Yes. And I'm quite certain you just broke his."

Pansy shook her head. "You give him too much credit. You assume he still loves me as well. I had originally hoped I could make him love me again so as to break his heart. But I'm afraid such a plan was doomed to fail if he never loved me in the first place. I may have wounded his pride, caused him to regret ever leaving me, and maybe slightly embarrassed him, in which case I may call my plan a success. But there's no chance I broke his heart."

"Honestly, Parkinson, I'm starting to question your intelligence. Or at least your common sense. Make a left at this corner."

"The bloody hell are you talking about?" Pansy turned as per the instructions, finding herself in a very familiar corridor.

"Why would Malfoy pursue you to be his friend again, and then seek to have you be his wife?"

"Because he needs me in his life, as something constant, as something he is familiar with, the closest thing he has to a true friend. He admitted this much to me already, you know."

"But no Slytherin needs that! We are an independent brood. We keep others around for our own benefit, sure. But we don't need them to function, the way Potter does. You and I know that our parents brought us up to handle problems on our own, to keep our emotions in check, to keep our own matters private from everyone else lest it be used to our disadvantage. These are all things we learned when we were mere blubbering toddlers!"

"Get to the point because I believe we're almost back," retorted an impatient Pansy. She had a inkling of where Millicent was going, and she was not liking what seemed to be the inevitable conclusion of her tirade. Egads, it was a shame, really, that Bulstrode never talked this much with anyone else. She wondered if there was any other person in the entire school that was aware of the keen, sharp-minded girl that lay beneath the trollish exterior.

"You know my point. He could have chosen not to have you in his life, even as a 'friend'. Slytherins don't need friends. He could have chosen any girl to be his wife and without a doubt received her acceptance in an instant. But he still chose to send you an offer, knowing there was a slight possibility of being rejected. Why would he do that to himself if he did not love you still?"

Pansy did not answer. She did not want to, because she also realized what a complete idiot she was. She had to admit that she knew all along why it had been difficult to extract her revenge, that her feelings for Draco were never quite extinguished. Yet, she had been spurned by him, and the Slytherin in her would not let matters rest at that: regardless of her love for him, her pride would not settle for anything less than retribution.

But what she overlooked was the possibility that he also never stopped loving her. That was the wrench that skewed all her scheming and plotting.

They finally reached their common room. Both girls crept in silently, thankful that they had not been caught on their trek back. Pansy immediately headed for the vacated sofa.

"Will you not come up?" asked Millicent. "It's very late."

"No, I have a feeling I would not be able to sleep anyways. I'd like to just sit here for a bit. Go ahead."

Millicent headed up to her room without another word or glance at Pansy, having already said everything she wanted to say, and just being too tired to further deal with Pansy's ignorance of Draco's feelings. She did not consider herself smart, but had always had a penchant of observing everyone around her. She thought it a disadvantage, for despite being a cunning, ruthless house, Slytherins all mostly seemed ignorant when it came to basic emotions that did not involve hate, greed, and vengeance. Ah, well, what was it to her? She would look to her own future. Luck to everyone else.

Pansy relit the fire and settled down on the green velvet upholstery. She sat unmoving for a few minutes, staring at the flames that had mesmerized Draco earlier. The entire house seemed to be fast asleep, as not a single sound could be heard, aside from the occasional popping of the fire. Despite all the thoughts in her head, Pansy felt herself unwind. Her eyelids slowly began to lower, when suddenly a familiar voice bolted her upright.

"You know, Bulstrode is smarter than she lets on."

Her eyes reluctantly settled to the source of the familiar voice. And there he was, sitting on the high-backed chair on the opposite side, grey eyes intently piercing through her own green ones. She should have felt awkward or even surprised at his presence, let alone his comment. What had he heard? When did he get there? Hadn't Bulstrode mentioned he retired hours ago? Oh, but she was so exhausted. This whole day had felt like it was not about anything or anyone else but him. Salazar, a girl can't catch a break!

She sighed. There she went, sighing again, she thought. Didn't her mother have some rule about excessive sighing? Oh, to hades with those rules, anyhow.

She didn't want to deal with him anymore tonight. She slowly rose and decided she was going to bed. What was there left to say between them, really? Bulstrode was right. She understood the need for revenge, but love? Love was too complicated a concept for any of them to deal with; it was better to just walk away from it all. She had barely placed her foot on the first step of the stairway when he spoke again. It was a low, hoarse whisper.

"This is where we leave it, I suppose," he murmured.

She didn't turn around, but she didn't take another foot forward, either. "Was it the ending you thought it would be?"

He did not speak right away, as if he really gave thought to his response. "No. I thought it'd be us, together."

"Hm. A bit difficult when you scorn a woman's love, you know."

"I never admitted to being an expert in the field. Perhaps treachery or spite, but never love."

She bowed her head. So, it was in fact, love. Damn, they really sucked at this. "Neither of us had any business in harboring such emotions anyways. All we know how to do is hurt people, and each other."

"You're worse. At least I was trying to be honest with you and myself in what I did. I felt that you deserved that. My doubts motivated me to pursue others. But you, you deceived me."

She turned to face him, so that her eyes would meet his. "And I succeeded," she said, with a triumphant smile. Salazar, let this all end tonight, she thought. I am so tired of it all, and of us. "Did it hurt?" she asked haughtily. "Let that be a lesson to you, then, and may you remember it forever."

He quickly stood up, never breaking his gaze from hers. "We need not cross paths after tonight, Parkinson," he sneered. "In the event that we do, I suggest we take it upon ourselves to ignore each other's presence. Or existence."

She let out a soft laugh and gave him a mocking curtsey. "I should rather like that, indeed." She turned away and proceeded up the stairs to her room. It was over, she thought. They were over. The realization of it was slowly bearing down on her as she climbed those bloody stairs. But she felt so hollow, and her heart seemed as heavy as a ton of bricks.