Pansy was struggling with her breathing. She had been standing stupidly in front of Malfoy manor for well over ten minutes already. She could not bring herself to knock on the gaudy, ornate door. She was attempting to slow the rapid beating of her heart and to calm the nervousness that was currently causing her palms to feel like a sweaty, spewing fountain. Granted, their house elf Gobby, or Nobby, whatever his name was, would be the one to answer, she still wanted to be as presentable as possible before continuing on with this fiasco. Oh, and it was going to be a fiasco. She hoped her mother wouldn't hear about it.
She had changed her mind the day before, practically groveling to her editor Morigan to allow her to renege on the assignment. Unfortunately, it was too late. It was this, or find another place of employment. It was hard being an adult.
So here she was, doing deep-breath exercises in front of Malfoy manor. She had just gathered enough courage to finally knock, when the door opened to reveal a surprising, albeit more welcoming, face.
"Blaise!" she cried in surprise.
"What in Merlin's beard, Parkinson!" he answered, equally shocked to see her on the other side. He broke into a grin. "Lost your way have you?" he joked, spreading his arms open to greet her.
She rolled her eyes but embraced him anyways. "What are you doing here?" she asked, stepping back to get a look at him. Still handsome. Damn it, Parkinson, you should have just married him, she thought. Who cares about love.
"Oh, Narcissa had some items that needed insuring," he replied, indicating the satchel hanging from his shoulder.
"Ah, sure. So, doing well then, yeah?"
"Yes, yes. My job is agreeable enough. And once in a while, when I'm lucky, it comes with entertaining moments. Like this one. Which brings us back to the topic at hand. You do realize that this is Draco's house, right? What are you doing here?"
"That is a very good question, Zabini. Care to explain, Parkinson?" asked an all too familiar voice behind Blaise.
Pansy braced herself as Draco appeared from inside and joined Blaise into the doorway. He sneered her way. "You ought to know you aren't wanted here," he said icily. Yup, he was still angry, she thought.
Blaise, on the other hand, kept the same delighted expression, looking back and forth between the two.
"Zabini, go home. Your business is done here," Draco snapped.
Blaise didn't falter, a devilish grin still plastered on his face. "Alright, mate. No need to be so surly," he replied. He turned to leave, and gave Pansy's arm a reassuring squeeze. "Send me an owl sometime, Pans. I'd love to catch up." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and she felt her face turn red. "Malfoy, I'll see you around," Blaise said, walking away but managing to throw a casual wave.
They both watched him leave until he was out of sight. An awkward silence settled when they were finally alone.
"Parkinson, before you get your hopes up in trying to seduce Zabini, you ought to know he's chosen to marry Daphne. So you can stop stalking him and peddle your wares someplace else," Draco said with contempt.
"Oh shut up, you twat," she cried. "I am not stalking Zabini. I didn't come here to try and seduce him with my...'wares'!"
Although she was surprised and slightly disappointed to hear that he was going to be marrying Daphne. The elder Greengrass sister never mentioned it to her. Not that they spoke regularly anymore. Pansy distanced herself from all her former schoolmates as much as possible after Hogwarts. She couldn't handle constant reminders of her past. Got to move on, you know?
"I was the one who turned down his proposal," she mumbled.
"Then why are you here? I can't imagine it's because of me. Pretty sure I made it clear to you at graduation where we stood."
"I'm here for your interview with Witchly Weekly." She crossed her arms, raising her chin slightly. "This is strictly a professional visit." That's right you haughty bastard, I'm doing quite well, she thought to herself.
"You're joking! You actually wanted to interview me?" he asked incredulously.
"Quite the opposite, I assure you. I begged and begged not to do this. Salazar, I even suggested that I could write the article without speaking to you. But believe it or not, this assignment ranked just slightly above unemployment," she sneered.
He eyed her suspiciously. "You begged, huh. Whatever happened to your pride?"
"Yeah, well it got me in a lot of trouble with an ex-boyfriend in the past so it's been shelved," she replied, half in jest. "Anyway, look. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here. So, here's the deal." She started shuffling through her bag and fished out the parchment roll buried at the bottom. She offered it to him.
"I've taken the liberty of writing down all the questions your female adorers really wanted answers to, well the appropriate ones we can publish anyways. You can write down your responses, and when you're done, you can just owl it back to me. That way we spend as little time together as possible," she explained.
She was mentally patting herself in the back. The idea was brilliant and it only took her one sleepless night to come up with it. But rather than taking the scroll, he just stared at her. With those intense grey eyes. And that handsome face with his stupid high cheekbones. Okay that's enough, Parkinson, she thought, trying to stop herself from staring back at him. She thought she saw the corner of his mouth tug up slightly. But that was clearly all in her head as he probably missed her as much as he missed Potter.
"Hello, Malfoy?" She waved the rolled up parchment in his face. "Anybody home? Did you hear anything that I said?"
He scowled at her. "I heard you, idiot!"
"Draco, why are you still at the door?" asked a voice from inside. "Why are you shouting? Is Blaise still out there?"
Oh, no. No, no, no. It cannot get any worse. Please don't let this happen, Pansy silently begged. And of course the gods were against her because Narcissa walked into view, right behind her son.
"Oh well what a pleasant surprise, Pansy!" she exclaimed. "Draco, why didn't you tell me she was here?" She placed her hands on her son's shoulders. "You should have invited her in! Why would you leave a lady standing outside?" she reprimanded.
"Ah, hello, Mrs. Malfoy," she replied as politely as she could.
"She isn't staying," Draco said.
"Draco! Where are your manners?" He rolled his eyes in response.
"No, no, ah, it's quite alright," sputtered Pansy. As if her nerves weren't already on edge. "I'm just here to drop something off," Pansy said, holding up the scroll. She offered it to Draco again, who reluctantly took it at last.
But Narcissa persisted. "Well at least come inside and have some tea. It's been so long since I've seen you."
She looked to Draco, silently hoping he'd pipe up and help her avoid the uncomfortable scenario that was playing out. But he didn't. He remained silent and unmoving. But still staring at her.
"I, uh, well," started Pansy. But Draco decided to finally speak up.
"Mother, you're having tea with Astoria today, yeah? I really think she'd be quite put out if she arrived to find you having tea with ... my ex-girlfriend. Don't you think so?"
Narcissa smiled. Or was it smirked? Pansy wasn't sure.
"Ah, you mean the back-up daughter-in-law," said Narcissa in such a low voice that Pansy wasn't sure she actually heard her. Did Malfoys mumble? Even more important: Did Narcissa prefer her over Astoria? Pansy couldn't help feeling smug all of a sudden.
Draco apparently heard her just fine ."Come off it mother, you adore her."
"Oh? Do I?" she asked, with mischief in her smile. "Anyways, tea with her is not until later."
Before Pansy could protest further, she found herself being ushered inside their mansion and into the parlor. "Have a seat, darling," said Narcissa. "Draco, you too." She pointed to the chair next to Pansy. He glanced at his mother with an annoyed look on his face before obeying.
"Dobby! Tea! And bring those biscuits that Ms. Parkinson loves!" she commanded. The house elf appeared in a blink, took one bow, before disappearing with a soft pop. Moments later, the table was spread and Narcissa was pouring her a cup.
"So, Pansy, what is this visit all about?" she asked.
Pansy took a nervous sip. "Nothing too important. My magazine is doing a feature on Mal- er, Draco, and they wanted him to answer some questions." She didn't dare look at him and kept her attention on his mother instead. She really hoped he wasn't stupid enough to think she engineered this little scenario because she wanted to spend more time with him. Don't let him be that daft, she thought desperately.
"Oh that's right. I heard you're a famous writer now. That is very commendable."
"Well, not famous yet. But hopefully soon."
"You've managed to bring popularity to Quidditch with women through writing. I'd say you're somewhat of a pioneer, Pansy."
Pansy managed to mumble a thank you before Draco pitched in.
"She knows enough about the sport, what with attending all my games back in school," he said with a smirk.
Pansy fidgeted in her seat. She cast a suspicious glance at him, only to find him staring at her again. There was something about the way he was looking at her that really made her more uncomfortable than she already was, sitting there in their parlor, drinking tea and carrying on a conversation as if it was her marrying Draco instead of Astoria. Ah, the 'what ifs' of Pansy's world.
"Uh, yeah. Not to mention the fact that you talked about the sport non-stop. Thanks for all that," she replied. He gave her a small nod, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to tell her 'you're welcome'. Maybe it was all in her head.
"Well, now, since we're all here, Pansy, why don't you go ahead and just ask Draco the questions?"
Right, and drag this on longer than it has to, like a slow and painful death, she thought. Check please. "Actually, I think Draco mentioned something about a busy schedule ..." she trailed, hinting at him.
"No, go ahead, Parkinson, ask away," he said. He handed her the parchment. He was clearly enjoying her unease. Oh, the hexes she wished she could throw his way!
"Well, I'll leave you two for the time being so you can get some work done," said Narcissa as she got up, still with a small smile on her face.
"Ah. Um. Okay, then." She unrolled the paper and cleared her throat. Well, if he was going to be an arse about it, then fine. She would just do her bloody job. Nothing to it. The faster she got it over with, the faster she could go home.
"First, let's start off with what lead you to want to play Quidditch professionally, and who were your major influences?" Merlin, she could have answered that herself. Why was she even here? Oh, right. Something about being fired from her job. She grabbed a quill from her bag and began to write down notes.
The time passed, but unfortunately, she did not have much to show for it. She looked down at what she had written so far. Not much. Not surprisingly, Draco was very tight-lipped. On, and on, it went, with Pansy prodding him for more details when he gave one word responses.
"Draco, when the readers say they want to know if you enjoy other things besides Quidditch, they want you to elaborate. A simple "yes" isn't really enough," she sighed, exasperated at his succinctness. She nibbled on another biscuit. She was going to gain weight by the end of this interview, she was sure of it.
"That's stupid. I answered the question," he retorted, reaching out to brush the crumbs off her sleeves.
"Stop being stubborn or we'll never finish. I can't submit this to my editor. Look, let's put down something like, you enjoy vacationing in Spain or sleeping in on Sunday mornings."
"Pansy, none of those are true."
"You idiot, I'm just throwing out examples! I need you to expand."
"Well, don't put words in my mouth!"
Pansy pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes and let out a huff. "Salazar, this is just like studying for potions with you all over again. You know, what, let's just skip to the next question. Ok, how about this one. What is your favorite memory of Quidditch? And don't say 'winning'!"
He smirked. "Woman, you know me so well."
"I should, what with our history." For a brief moment, time stopped for Pansy. And old memories she long ago buried were starting to resurface. This was getting dangerous. Especially with the way he was looking at her - it was stirring up feelings she forced herself to forget. Stay focused, she mentally reprimanded herself. "So, about that memory?" she pressed.
He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "Our 6th year in Hogwarts, winning that final game against Gryffindor."
Pansy counted off on her fingers. "Eleven words. Not bad, Malfoy," she joked, but still scribbled it down. "You mind if I add a little bit more later? In terms of description? Just so the readers can get an idea about the setting. I can have you review it all before sending it off for print."
"Setting? What? You mean how you ran onto the field after I caught the snitch? And how we snogged for the entire audience to see, yeah?"
Pansy's eyes went wide. "No I didn't! No, we didn't!" she protested. "Wait, did we?" Her eyebrows furrowed trying to remember. So many years, so many moments.
He leaned closer to her so that his face was right next to hers. "Your memory is pretty shoddy."
She abruptly pushed her chair back to keep her distance. "You know, I think eleven words are enough. I'll just leave it," she said but not making eye contact. He was clearly trying to make her uncomfortable. Some kind of sick revenge maybe? Well, not today, snake!
She glued her eyes to the parchment in front of her and moved on to the next question instead. "Oh geez. This one is kind of pathetic, but just answer it, ok? What is your ideal type of woman?" Pansy almost snorted. Awkward. She kept her head down, not wanting to look up at him.
She readied her quill for his response, but she was met with nothing but silence.
"Anytime now, Malfoy," she said tapping a finger on the table, but still refusing to look up. And when he remained silent, she sighed. "I know it's a stupid question, but the throng of our readers who are currently obsessed with you want to know if they might be your type."
Nothing.
"Ok, why don't we just describe Astoria. Uhm. Petite. Long hair. Sense of humor?" She paused to allow him time to jump in. "Graceful? Soft-spoken?" Everything I'm not, she thought glumly. "Feel free to help me out."
"Wrong," he finally replied.
She sighed, relieved that he spoke at last. "Ok, then what? It's not like I know the girl so why don't you fill me in."
"Stubborn, haughty, prideful. Argumentative, too."
Pansy chuckled as she wrote down the description. "I never would have guessed that about Astoria. She seems so agreeable. Alright, how about some physical attributes?"
"Slender. Dark hair. Green eyes. Slightly upturned nose."
Pansy set her quill down as soon as she wrote that last description down. Nope. Nuh-uh. This was not happening. Did he just describe her?
"You know, I think this is good. We have enough here," she said as she started rolling up the parchment and stuffing it in her bag. "I'll send it to you via owl and just let me know what you think." She got up to leave, but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
She turned to face him, those grey eyes piercing through her, making her knees go weak.
"Thanks for your time. I should get going," she mumbled. She tried to get away, but he held firm. He wrapped his other arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her deeply. For a moment, she froze in place, dumbfounded, just feeling the warmth of his lips on hers. But it passed quickly as she became engulfed in the fire of his passion.
Pansy gave in, kissing him back, running her hand through his hair. She felt her body shiver against him, felt his embrace tighten. Merlin she'd fantasized about this moment, being back in his arms, together again.
But he was no longer hers. He was engaged to another woman. Even if that was her fault. Her eyes snapped open and she hurriedly broke off from him, fingers unconsciously touching her lips.
"What did we just do?"
"Pansy, I -" But he didn't get to finish. Dobby appeared with a loud pop. "Miss Greengrass is here, sir," he squeaked, before vanishing again. Pansy took the interruption as a chance to step further away from him and compose herself, clearing her throat.
"Mr. Malfoy, thank you for the interview. I am sure you know how much our readers, your fans, appreciate it," she said as loudly and as formal as she could, just in time as Astoria walked into the parlor.
"Draco, darling, what's this? You had an interview?" Astoria eyed Pansy. Relax you cow, thought Pansy. I'm not here to steal him from you.
Draco remained unmoving, eyes still on Pansy and completely ignoring the other woman.
"Draco?" Astoria pressed.
Pansy smiled at her. "Yes, he was kind enough to answer some questions from his adoring fans. It will be published in next month's issue and we will be sure to send you both a copy. Again, thank you for your time, Mr. Malfoy."
He seemed to snap out it at last, giving her a small nod. "Uh yeah. Sure."
She had tried to sound as business-like and as detached as she could, but that didn't seem to remove the suspicious look in Astoria's eyes, and who could blame her? After all, her soon-to-be husband did just kiss his ex-girlfriend. Well, that's my cue to leave, she thought. She gathered the rest of her things and exited the parlor.
She was almost to the door when she heard her name being called. She turned to find Narcissa.
"Leaving so soon, dear? It was so good to see you. I hope you come back again?"
Pansy gulped. She felt as if her face was on fire. "Maybe," she responded weakly before practically running out that house.