.
Part One | Strike the Match
Seven. Back to Hogwarts
"So, you'll have to go to the prefect's carriage again, right?" Daphne asked.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to be there in five minutes."
"Okay, help me find Blaise or Millie first?"
"Done!" Pansy laughed, elbowing Daphne and pointing to four familiar figures less than ten feet away from where the girls were. Daphne's face morphed into a wide smile as she ran along the crowded platform, before promptly flinging herself into Blaise Zabini. "I've missed you!" Pansy heard Daphne squeal as she approached. Her own smile grew as she hugged Theo, Millicent, Blaise, and Draco, respectively. Draco squeezed her for the longest of the four.
"You okay?" She heard him mutter, and Pansy felt a strange wobble in her emotions as she withdrew from their embrace and looked at her long time friend. She wasn't in love with Draco anymore, in fact, she was unsure if she ever was, but she did love him, and she knew, in that moment, that he was probably the only other person that could understand her right now. She'd been the one he'd turned to last year when his doubts spoke to himself too loudly. She'd been the one who had known, with a heavy heart, who had enabled the Death Eaters to enter the school; because she'd been the only one he trusted enough to break down in front of, she'd been the one he'd screamed and trashed half of his possessions in front of. She was the one he had held onto, the one whose arms had held a tear-stained Draco Malfoy as he gasped for breath and chanted 'What have I done?' over and over.
"Not really." Pansy couldn't bring herself to lie.
Draco nodded, and his hand squeezed her arm. "Come on. We better go find the prefects. Oh, and by the way..." Draco pulled a small something from within an inner pocket of his suit jacket. It was a small badge, almost identical to her own, the only difference being his was emblazoned with 'Head Boy'. He looked at her with raised eyebrows.
"Oh, well thank fuck it's you! Can you imagine me living with Finch-Fletchley?" Pansy said with relief.
Draco laughed, "Fuck no!"
"Was yours a bullshit promise to your parents as well?"
"Yep, have you met the Carrows, yet?"
"No, they're just," Pansy's hands air quoted, "-old friends of my dad's-" she snorted, "-apparently."
"They're thick as shit," Draco said before steering her towards the correct carriage. The pair turned and raised a hand each to their fellow Slytherins before climbing onto the train. Pansy and Draco had enough time to quickly charm the blinds across the windows, lock both side doors, and change into their school robes. Neither were particularly bothered about remaining decent in front of the other, having both seen the other in countless versions of undress over the years of their friendship, relationship, and the happy middle they had unspokenly arranged between themselves the previous year.
"Okay, unlock the door," Pansy instructed, pinning her new badge onto the front of her robes.
One by one, the new and remaining prefects started to slowly appear. Pansy kept her eyes firmly on the one side she was sure Granger would appear in, rather looking forward to rubbing the Gryffindor's face in the fact she had the badge that Granger would no doubt have expected to receive.
But no Granger appeared.
She's not actually dead, is she?
In fact, neither Gryffindor seventh-year prefects appeared at all. The Weasley girl, who Draco had dubbed years previously 'Weaslette' had stomped in. Pansy wasn't even certain Weaslette had been a prefect the previous year. She glowered briefly at Pansy and sat with her arms crossed in a clear huff at the Head placements. The train began to move, and Pansy frowned at Draco who shrugged, his brow furrowed. He had clearly also noticed the very obvious lack of both Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.
Draco turned to Weaslette, "Are your brother and his girlfriend planning to make an appearance anytime soon?"
"Doesn't look like it, Malfoy," Ginny snapped. Bloody hell, who stuck a wand up your arse?
Pansy cleared her throat, ready to address the prefects when she was stopped by a knock on the carriage door. Draco frowned again before flicking his wand and swinging the door ajar.
"Errr, is this the prefect's carriage?" Pansy heard a familiar voice query.
What on Earth?
"Yes," Draco retorted, his usual attitude of superiority hanging in the air.
"Right, good. Apparently Ron and Hermione may not be here this year, so McGonagall made me a prefect."
"McGonagall made you a prefect?" Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell." Draco was scrutinising the newcomer as a tall figure entered the carriage and selected a seat beside Weaslette. "Right. Before we get interrupted again-" Draco said, glaring, "-as you were, Pans."
Pansy, on the other hand, for reasons that were mostly far beyond her comprehension, was less composed
"Huh? Oh right," Pansy fumbled for words, looking down onto the blank timetable she had started to write that morning. She barely saw the parchment, however, her thoughts awry. Why the hell does Neville fucking Longbottom look really fit?
Pansy would later ask herself why the appearance of a late Neville Longbottom appearing in the prefect's carriage of the Hogwarts Express had caused her such distraction. Far more distraction than it warranted, anyway. She had blundered her way through the meeting, becoming in many ways the polar opposite of the cool, and at times cruel, but collected, persona she'd perfected before even the start of first year. She'd achieved absolutely nothing in her first duty as Head Girl; her timetable had remained blank, and Draco had been forced to take over after ten minutes of Pansy's nonsensical ramblings about irrelevant floor plans.
Right now, however, Pansy's mind was otherwise occupied. The Sorting Ceremony had concluded far sooner than the preceding years.
"There aren't any Muggle-borns this year, are there?" Daphne whispered to her fellow seventh years. Draco looked silently at his empty plate, shaking his head slowly. The hardened expression on his face having been so perfectly mastered through the years, it was only Pansy that was able to pick up on the sadness in his eyes. Theo glanced at Pansy, with a small smile upon his face, his eyebrows lifted as his shoulders raised in a slight shrug. Pansy knew Theo's dad was close to Lucius Malfoy, though she was sure that Theo's allegiance lay with Draco, and Draco's heart did not lie with Voldemort. Blaise shifted uncomfortably in his seat, where he was sitting directly opposite Daphne and diagonal from Pansy. His dark, sculpted features looked troubled, although his face softened somewhat as Daphne offered him a reassuring smile.
Millicent was seated slightly to Pansy's left and further up the long Slytherin house table next to Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The latter two sat smirking at Daphne's question. It was always a peculiar sight seeing another person so close to Crabbe and Goyle after years of Hogwarts being incredibly used to seeing Draco's pale face there. According to Daphne's hushed whispers earlier as they climbed into their carriage after leaving the train, Crabbe and Goyle had spent the journey saying very little, but what they did say, involved a tremendous amount of boasting towards their plans to join Voldemort's cause after Hogwarts. Once Pansy and Draco had appeared, after the terribly flustering meeting had long finished and their initial rounds of the train had ended, both boys hadn't said a whole lot as their interest shifted hanging onto everything Draco had said, who, in turn, had barely acknowledged either of them.
At the table, Millicent seemed be attempting to distance herself from both Crabbe and Goyle, and was shifting herself closer to the rest of their friendship group. Her eyes, Pansy noticed, looked worried even when she forced her expression to remain nonplussed. Offering the brunette the hint of a comforting smile, Pansy mouthed a silent, 'You okay?' across the table. The corners of Millicent's mouth twitched, her head bowing into a half nod, a nod that was cut short as Millicent seemed to change her mind, instead she averted Pansy's gaze, and shrugged her shoulders. Pansy didn't press Millicent further, mostly because she knew she felt in a similar bind, they all did.
The Great Hall, which had already had a far more sombre atmosphere than Pansy had seen at Hogwarts as Severus Snape stood up, and lacked the distinct buzz of general chit chat. The absence of prattle had ensured the enormous room was already practically noiseless when the newly appointed headmaster rose to his feet. Pansy swivelled in her seat to allow her eyes to drift the length of the Great Hall., Craning her neck as subtly as she could, she paused when her eyes reached the Gryffindor table, the furthest away from the Slytherins. Pansy scanned the Gryffindors, only just making out the red and gold trim of their robes. Where the hell is-
Pansy gasped, far more audibly than she would have liked, causing Daphne to dart her head around towards her best friend. Luckily, no one but Daphne and Draco seemed to have noticed, the latter's eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. Draco's own gaze had followed Pansy's instantaneously, and he had become aware, just as Pansy had, from across the sea of Hogwarts students that Neville Longbottom was watching the Pansy intently.
"What?" Daphne was spinning her head around, oblivious.
"Nothing," Pansy whispered, feeling an embarrassing warmth spread over her cheeks.
"Bullshit!" Daphne's tone was far louder than Pansy felt comfortable with, "What is it?"
"Daphne, shut up!" Pansy hissed back. "Watch Professor Snape, look," she said as she gestured towards the High Table. Daphne narrowed her eyes into an expression Pansy was all too familiar with, an expression she knew meant that Daphne would not rest until she got what she wanted, or in this case, when she knew what she wanted to know. Fucking Longbottom!
"-in turn, it is the job of both Professors Carrow to report to myself whenever I may be-" Pansy became aware, all of a sudden that she hadn't paid Professor Snape's speech an iota of attention. Well, that's definitely Longbottom's fault, "-unavailable." Snape elongated the last word as his dark eyes washed over the students, his expression incomprehensible. Pansy watched as Snape strode back to his seat, which, until that night the previous year, had always been occupied by Professor Dumbledore. Pansy was never a fan of Dumbledore per se, and she'd known early in the year that Draco had been assigned the ridiculous task of killing him, but it had just never seemed plausible the old man would perish. Both her and Draco had known, deep down, that Draco wouldn't have been able to carry it out. She'd cried for him many times, always alone, wondering what would happen when Draco had failed the impossible assignment. At the time, all she could do for the boy she cared so deeply for was to keep his bed warm and provide an uncomplicated, painless distraction.
Pansy looked at the two seats adjacent to Professor Snape's; she didn't recognise the occupants but knew instantaneously who they must be: the infamous Carrows. Both Amycus, and his sister Alecto alike, were rather unremarkable in appearance; Amycus was a rather foul-tempered looking middle-aged man, Alecto an equally foul-tempered looking middle-aged woman.
At the precise moment Snape's heavily cloaked behind was back in his chair, the serving plates in the middle of each table suddenly filled with a number of house-elf prepared food. A small murmuring began to fill the atmosphere. It was still a distinct difference in volume from previous years, where the din of hundreds of voices could become overwhelming. Tonight, the student body as a whole was reserved in its chatter as though the starting of the school year was a strain. Because it is a strain, Pansy thought, suddenly, the truth of her realisation hitting her with a jolt.
Pansy chewed her fingernails whilst everyone around her munched on the food. She wished nothing more than the opportunity to bury her face in her hands and either scream or cry, possibly both.
"Pans?"
Pansy wasn't aware how long she had spent doing nothing, her mind a whirlwind of everything and nothing. When she realised Daphne's hand was resting on her elbow, Pansy's eyes flickered between Daphne's face and her hand.
"It's all going to shit, Daph."
"I know," Daphne's reply was soft, and her eyes understanding. She turned her head to look at the two boys sitting opposite them, a worried expression clouding her perfect face.
Blaise sent Daphne a glance of understanding, before turning to Pansy, "We've got you Pans." Pansy nodded, grateful for his sincerity. Despite knowing her eyes had become visibly watery, she managed to present Blaise with a small smile. Draco's stormy grey eyes regarded Pansy soundlessly, yet still telling her a thousand truths. He gets it.
"You've got to eat," Draco informed her, matter-of-factly. Pansy looked down at her empty plate, preparing to shake her head. "Eat," Draco repeated, sternly, still scrutinising her.
"Here." Daphne had taken Pansy's plate and had busied herself piling small amounts of various dishes onto it, "Draco's right." She placed the filled plate back into its space in front of Pansy before drawing her wand from her robes. "Close your eyes," she instructed as Pansy's eyes snapped shut. She became aware of a slight tingling sensation covering her eyelids. She knew Daphne had magically cooled her face to help omit any signs of her tearful episode. Something the two best friends had perfected two years prior; Daphne because she has, according to herself, 'a very ugly cry-face', and Pansy because a face with tears is not a pretty one.
"Eat," Daphne repeated Draco's previous advice.
"Okay," Pansy replied softly, knowing she was clearly defeated and not believing for a second that Daphne wasn't above force feeding. She took a small bite of an indistinguishable white meat.
Fucking war.
Fucking Rabastan's impending letters.
Fucking Death Eater father.
Fucking Carrows.
Fucking...Longbottom.
Pansy's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet as the thought crossed her mind and she took a large gulp of pumpkin juice, grateful none of her friends were accomplished Legilimens, as she willed her face to return to its usual colouring.
"Well-" Later that evening, Draco paused as he scanned the small, dimly lit living area, "-this is…" he gestured his hands in circular motions, clearly failing to think of a positive adjective to describe their surroundings.
"-cosy?" Pansy ventured. Her eyes were wide, and her face was distraught. Her expression was almost one of fearfulness as she mimicked Draco's visual browsing of the Head Boy and Girl's shared common room. This is not home, she thought sadly.
"I don't like cosy." Draco's voice was laced with a trademark whining tone Pansy hadn't heard for a while. He used to reserve it for moaning about Potter, Pansy thought with a sudden urge to snort with laughter.
"I like Slytherin, and this shit-" he continued, gesturing some more, his hands becoming more and more frantic as the conversation went on, "-looks like the setting for a fucking Hufflepuff's tea party." As he spoke the last few words Draco pointed to a small, framed print that was currently situated behind Pansy's head. She spun around and was met with a picture of three large cupcakes, patterned pink and white. It didn't match the pale blue wall on which it was hung upon in the slightest, she grimaced at the garish image before turning back towards Draco. "It's not really us," she had to agree.
"Not really," Draco began, clearly abashed. By this point, Draco's hand gestures had crescendoed into large, frantic arm movements as he began to stomp around the small sitting room. His thrashing, Pansy realised, cocking her head, made him rather resemble a skinny, pale whomping willow. "NOT REALLY US!? You're bloody right it's not really us." At this point, Pansy was struggling terribly to keep a straight face, even in spite of her near breakdown only an hour or so ago at the feast.She was consumed with her seemingly constant inner struggles with everything she, her friends, and the whole of Wizarding Britain were facing. Plus, it really irked her that she had been unnecessarily made Head Girl for her father's purposes and not her merit. This, in turn, had forced her into living away from her solitude of her beloved Slytherin homestead and its large windows that looked directly into the lake. It was a view which Pansy had always been utterly convinced could cure a number of ailments just from its overwhelmingly calming presence. Not to mention how she would miss the bed she'd slept in for six consecutive years which stood, now empty, next to Daphne's. Despite all of these troubles, Pansy still found herself trying not to laugh at Draco's current tantrumming.
Professor McGonagall had found the pair directly after the feast had finished, and informed them sternly as she regarded the two coolly over her spectacles of the location of their new living quarters. They had found their dormitories hidden behind a painting on the third floor, which featured, of all things, a cow field. The third cow from the left had to be tapped three times with either the Head Boy or Girl's wand, and a password spoken allowed. Once the cow had been tapped, a door had appeared magically in the stone, the painting directly in the centre of the top of the door, which had required no assistance in opening inwards. The two friends had stepped through a small hallway into…
"...the most hideous room I've ever been unfortunate enough to occupy. Seriously, Pans they expect us to live here." Draco droned, clearly with no intention of giving up his tangent. He poked his right index finger into the back of the couch, a gaudy piece of furniture, fashioned in a faded mauve-coloured fabric, as he simultaneously shook his head. I'll give him that. That couch is fucking horrendous. Pansy looked at her surroundings once more, her demeanour sorrowful and her heart heavy, wondering to herself what Daphne and the others were doing at that moment. She was already missing her underwater home more than she'd ever let on.
"Come on," Pansy said, to a still irate Draco, "let's check out our rooms."
"Oh, hold me back," Draco snapped as he trudged towards to far end of the living room and exited through the only other door, muttering grumpily. Pansy was certain she heard the words 'my father', and had to stifle yet another desire to laugh.
The door led to a small hallway, with were two more doors on either side, the right-hand one stood ajar and Pansy became aware of the sound of kitchen drawers opening and then slamming shut again. "-for fuck's sake," she heard Draco muttering. Pushing the door further open, Pansy watched silently as a thunderous Draco was opening every drawer and cupboard the small kitchen housed with such maniacal ferocity it was a wonder the runners and hinges were still intact.
He stopped and looked Pansy, shaking his head seriously. "Pans, I'm not being funny, but this kitchen is the colour of hippogriff piss." Examining the wall coverings for the first time, Pansy took a deep breath inwards and found herself almost choking at the sight; the kitchen was indeed decorated in the rather questionable colour scheme of the brightest yellow the witch had ever seen. Bloody hell, who decorated this nauseating nightmare? "-and all the shit in here," Draco continued, gesturing at the right-hand wall, which housed the majority of the drawers and cupboards he'd been hurriedly investigating, "-looks about 150 bloody years old. Look!" He pulled out a small saucepan - which, once upon a time, Pansy supposed had been silver. The pan was now, however, coated with a sizeable covering of rust. Draco brandished it in Pansy's face, causing her nose to wrinkle in disgust. Her wide eyes met Draco's; two wild, grey thunderstorms that bored right into her, the way they always had. Pansy knew it wasn't necessary to explain her coming sentiment:
"Fuck."
"Yes," Draco nodded in agreement, "Fuck."
The rest of the tour of the Head's Quarters continued in a similar vein. Draco's metaphorical cage was rattled even more after exiting the bathroom which was situated directly opposite the kitchen, an ugly, dated green affair, which supplied a bath suite in an even uglier shade of green.
"You know my spew is usually a nicer colour than that," Draco had spoken, clearly disgusted, pointing at the bathtub.
"Unfortunately for me, Draco, I did know that," Pansy stated, gulping slowly, attempting to process the fact that she was going to have to use this bathroom. Well, maybe not that often. "We're still entitled to use the prefect's bathroom."
"Thank Salazar for that!"
The bedrooms were at the top of a small staircase. The allocated sleeping quarters were decorated in deep burgundy colouring, with bright red accents throughout the curtains and bedding. Pansy swallowed hard. This is not home.
From the window she was able to see a small fraction of the Quidditch pitch, an assortment of rolling green hills, and a small portion of the greenhouses. I can't even see the lake, she observed to herself, dismally.
She was only jolted out of her wallowing by Draco's hand placing itself onto her shoulder.
"Agh! Draco! I didn't even hear you come in, you prat!"
Draco pulled a smirk Pansy knew all too well.
"That's not funny," Pansy pouted at him.
Draco's eyebrows raised comically in blatant disagreement. Pansy scowled at her friend.
"I realised something," Draco began.
Pansy cut him off. "Was it that you're not funny?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm hilarious," Draco paused, enabling himself to step away from Pansy's oncoming swat to his arm. "No, just the final kick in the arse at the prospect of living in this dump for a year."
"Is it just you realising that we do, in fact, have to live in this dump for a year?"
"Close," Draco sniggered.
At least he's stopped throwing a Daphne Drama.
"Enlighten me then, what is the final kick in the arse at the prospect of living in this dump for a year?"
"Haven't you noticed the insultingly shit colour scheme?"
"In the kitchen?" Pansy shuddered as she remembered the buttercup-coloured walls.
"In the everything. Think about it, what colour is the living room?"
Pansy remembered the tired-looking powdered blue painted walls.
"Blue."
"Correct. Now, we won't even mention the kitchen as I doubt either of us will forget that heap of shit in a hurry. Now," Draco gestured around the bedroom surrounding them. A rush of understanding washed over Pansy, her eyes widening with the realisation as she examined her burgundy bedroom.
"Those pricks! They've made Slytherin that ugly fucking bog!"
Draco's eyebrows were raised once more, nodding in an expression of disdainful agreement covering his pale features. "Drink?"
"What've you got?"
"Well, Pans, that all depends."
Pansy spun in the doorway of her new bedroom. "On what exactly?"
"Well, I might have some rather fine Bungbarrel Spiced mead, and I might have some even finer fifty-year-old Danish firewhisky, but whether or not I choose to share depends on you."
Oh, you are going to share. Pansy deliberated her answer for a few seconds before deciding to humour him, "Depends on me how exactly?"
Draco walked towards the door and Pansy slowly. Grey eyes meeting green, his head cocked to the side but his eyes remained intently on her own. His top teeth bit down on his lower lip before flashing her a slight, cocky smile. Very predictable, Draco. Pansy rolled her eyes at the sheer entitlement of his terribly annoying confidence. Draco was level with her now, and he sidestepped past the witch nodding his head in the direction of the staircase, inviting her to follow him. "You can have as much booze as you want-" Draco moved into the landing, turned and stepped down onto the second step. "-once you explain to me why the hell you suddenly want to bone Longbottom."