Title: Forgivable Expectations.
Author: Starvinbohemian (Jubilee3).
Pairings: Pansy/Draco, Pansy/Dean.
Rating: PG-13.
Chapter Summary: "I really shouldn't have to tell you that there are necessary sacrifices if you want to live this kind of life."
/ / /
Forgivable Expectations
Chapter 11: Last Winter Interlude
"Humans have a knack for choosing precisely the things that are worst for them."
— J.K. Rowling.
/ / /
The letter arrived during breakfast and was dropped by the owl atop her toast. The bird nipped angrily at her fingers when she tried to shoo it away without offering a treat. Birds that molted on her breakfast did not get treats.
The letter from her parents was succinct: "Make us proud."
The parchment dissolved in her hands into sizzling ash that fulfilled the owl's initial intent of ruining her meal.
If there were any question about her parents' feelings about her situation, then they were gone in a puff of smoke.
/ / /
Once Pansy had understood what she needed to do, waiting for an opportunity became the hardest part.
Her time window pretty much narrowed down to the dinner hour because it was the only meal everyone attended regularly at the same time. Pansy needed the room emptied because there was just nowhere else she could do this. She didn't want an audience.
Pansy waited until the very last minute, when Blaise was already half-out the door, before she begged off with a pretend headache. Blaise merely shrugged, her mind clearly already on her bangers and mash, and then she was gone.
Pansy closed and locked the door. Then, she began.
The room was dark except for the dim light of her wand. She could have lit the candles around the room, but something told her that this was the more authentic route. And she wanted to see.
Avoiding her own gaze in the full-length mirror, she pulled the dark hood up over her head until it reached her eyes. The black robe fell nearly to the floor, and she knew without looking that if not for her pale cheeks she would be just another shadow in the mirror. She had transfigured the mask from an old change purse while using a sketch she found in the restricted section as a guide. She placed it over her face.
Pansy took a deep breath and reminded herself that she needed to do this.
And then she looked.
This feeling… was it fear? If it was, then the mask hid it. The mask and cowl hid everything— a whole new identity that swallowed her up and transformed her into something new. Was this the person she was meant to be? Would she be strong like this?
Would anyone recognize her? Or would she become just an extension of the Dark Lord? She thought that this must be what it was to disappear behind an ideal, to become a faceless instrument of revolution. The Dark Lord's revolution. Draco's revolution. Hers?
Her hand was trembling when she reached up to tear the mask off. Yet, strangely, with the interplay of shadows across her face, it seemed to make little difference.
The Death Eater in the mirror stared back at her.
She whispered, "Incendio," and then watched as the corners of the mask curled up like crispy black fingers until it was nothing but ash in her hand.
/ / /
There was a snake on her parchment.
Pansy stared. Strange that she didn't remember sketching a snake. But there it was, right alongside her Potions notes. Its long, sinuous tail curled around her o's and q's. The forked tongue brushed the tip of a T.
A sickly knot coiled deep in her stomach. The longer she stared at it, the more the snake seemed to be hissing at her.
"Ms. Parkinson?"
She pushed the parchment away with a grimace.
Draco's hand squeezed hard on her thigh.
"Ms. Parkinson!"
Startled, she looked up to see everyone turned in their seats to look at her. Professor Snape's typically pallid cheeks were tinged an irritated pink. Oops.
Her mind went blank. "Um. What?"
Several people snickered.
Pansy thought Snape looked concerned, but immediately realized it must have been just her imagination because his voice was irritated when he said, "See me after class." He turned back to the board with a dramatic swish of his robes.
Stung, she sank lower in her seat. When she looked again, the snake wasn't a snake so much as just a mess of scribbles and not even remotely alive. She was losing her mind.
Beside her, Draco tried to catch her eye. She gave his hand on her leg a pointed look, and he removed it.
Pansy couldn't remember the last time she had slept a full night's sleep. Last night had been a series of starts and stops and jerking awake in a cold sweat before she could really remember falling asleep in the first place. Everything looked distorted from the vantage point of an insomniac. Why did she even bother coming to class? What was the point?
She couldn't find one, and so Pansy did something she never would have considered doing even a few days ago.
She left class without bothering to talk to Professor Snape.
/ / /
Even before joining the others outside, Pansy knew it had snowed again overnight.
She was still in her pajamas when a group of early-risers came into the common room shaking ice from their shoulders and stomping their boots on the mat.
It was going to be a long winter. So much for her hopes of a thaw.
On the trail, her boots made soft impressions in the thin layer of snow on the ground. The crunch, crunch sound of crushed snow beneath her feet was comforting. The cold air stung her eyes. Having wrapped her scarf so that the lower half of her face was concealed, she breathed wetly into the wool. The sky was the color of Draco's eyes.
There was excited chatter all around as they made their way down the road toward Hogsmeade. Pansy stared at her feet the entire walk into town save for a few furtive glances shot behind her. She kept expecting to be detained from the trip in punishment for blowing off Professor Snape. But it seemed that Snape hadn't so far put a block on her. She wondered at that.
Blaise walked beside her in a similar mood. "Might as well," she had said. "It's the last time, isn't it?"
The last time they would be on a Hogsmeade trip, or the last time they would all be together?
Pansy went because going promised a few hours when she wouldn't be trapped inside four thick walls and her own head. It took all of two steps before she realized that simply changing locations wasn't going to cut it.
"I can't force you to come…"
"What if I said no?"
"Then you're on your own."
She tried to push the anxiety back down into the pit of her stomach where it had been residing for the past two days, but it swelled up and up until her heart was racing and she had started to sweat. Another panic attack. Pansy grit her teeth and soldiered through it.
Two days.
Two agonizing days of this.
Draco had warned her that her time for decisions was rapidly running out, but she didn't know how long she still had. Two days, and she hadn't said a word to Draco indicating one way or the other. They weren't speaking at all, technically, but she kept a close eye on his comings and goings.
Pansy was keeping a close eye on everyone. She kept expecting that if she let the lot of them out of her sight, they would all just evaporate. The uncertainty made her feel clingy. She hated feeling clingy.
Once in town, Draco immediately splintered off and went his own way. Crabbe muttered something about Honeydukes before he and Goyle changed direction toward the store. They had lost track of Raquel in the crowd. They had never bothered to keep track of Millicent. So much for together-ness.
Pansy did her best to squash the insecurities that reared their ugly heads at this forked split. She didn't exactly want to spend her afternoon avoiding eye contact with Draco anyway.
Pansy and Blaise followed the Nott siblings to the Three Broomsticks. Apparently, a lot of people had the same idea that day because there was a line of people outside that were waiting for a table.
Alyssa groaned. "Do we want to wait?"
Theodore set his shoulders stubbornly. "I don't give a flying fuck about lines. I'm going to have a butterbeer today." Something about his tone settled the matter. They joined the line.
Pansy leaned against the wall with a sigh. Theodore was probably thinking it would be his last creature comfort for a while. Maybe it would be. Who knew what the Dark Lord had in store for them?
Blaise nudged her. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She raised an eyebrow and nodded meaningfully over at Granger, who was standing nearby.
Pansy managed a weak grin. "Might as well, right?"
"One for the road," Blaise agreed.
Pansy fished around in her pocket until she found a spare button. She handed it over to Blaise, who took it and gave her wand a few surreptitious waves while keeping her eyes on Granger. Pansy took a strategic step closer so that she was at least half-obscuring Blaise's doings.
"What are you doing?" Alyssa asked.
"Hush," Pansy said.
With a last wink, Blaise merged with the crowd and temporarily dropped out of sight. Pansy leaned back against the wall and waited for the show. She didn't have to wait long.
Her smile became real when Granger's squeal rose in the air like her favorite song. Christmas came again when Granger started spinning in frantic circles and tearing at her crazy hair, trying to extract the transfigured mouse that Blaise had dropped onto her head. Blaise was openly grinning when she returned to Pansy's side.
Poor Granger was not smiling; rather, she was nearly sobbing when the mouse finally fell out of the tangled mess. The creature went scurrying off down the street. Granger's cheeks were red when she sprang around to find the source of her abuse.
When her gaze fell on Pansy and Blaise, she instinctively narrowed in on them. She shrieked, "Oh, you are just— just horrible!" Before they could respond, Granger went flying after the mouse, probably intending to rescue it from a hard life on the streets.
Watching her go, Pansy muttered, "She's not wrong."
Blaise just shrugged.
The only available table was in the most isolated corner of the pub. It was a bit cramped, but the segregation suited their collective mood. There might as well have been a dark cloud hanging over their table. A peel of laughter from across the room had them all sharing morose glances.
Theodore got his butterbeer. After a while, Crabbe and Goyle rejoined them with their stockpile of sweets. Crabbe muttered something about them "being for the road." Draco and Raquel never showed their faces.
Alyssa tried to fill the silence with her cheerful chatter, but Pansy mostly tuned her out. Her mind elsewhere, she let her gaze rove over the other tables. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were sitting across the room. She made a mental note of their presence and then dismissed them.
Most of the patrons in the Three Broomsticks were Hogwarts students, which was why the two incongruous men sitting at the bar caught her attention. They appeared a little worse for wear in their shabby robes. One of the men caught her eye, but he turned away immediately. She thought he might have been turning to look at them, but why would he do that?
Tuning back in, she realized that Alyssa must have run out of inane babble because the table had gone notably silent again. It struck her that, as last hurrahs went, they were definitely missing the mark.
And then, out of nowhere: "I want Australia."
It was such a ridiculous thing to say that she kept waiting for a clue-in to the joke, but Theodore was frowning down at his mug of butterbeer.
"What are you talking about?" Goyle finally asked. His lips smacked wetly from the honey sticks he'd bought.
"After we've taken over the world, I want Australia."
One of the men at the bar glanced over at them. Theodore hadn't even raised his voice, but Pansy couldn't shake the feeling that the man had overheard.
"It doesn't work that way," Alyssa scoffed. "You-Know-Who is not going to give you Australia."
"How would you know? Have you ever taken over the world before?"
Theodore nearly spilled his drink when Pansy grabbed his arm. "Will you kindly shut the hell up," she hissed, "before someone hears you?"
He shook her off with a sneer. "No one heard. Stop overreacting."
The men at the bar had. The taller of the two was certainly looking at them now. Why else would he be watching them? She gave Alyssa's leg a swift kick under the table for good measure. Alyssa gave Pansy a wounded look. "Ow! Why did—?"
"Because if you're going to use his most famous moniker, then you might as well just hand out announcements to everyone here about what we're talking about."
"No one is even looking at us," Blaise said to her. "You're paranoid. Get a grip." She turned back to Theodore. "Anyway, we'd have to take over Britain first, and to do that…" She nodded meaningfully over Theodore's shoulder to where Potter was sitting.
Potter must have sensed their glances because he turned. Pansy's heart skipped a beat as their eyes met.
And then Potter rolled his eyes before resolutely turning his back on them. Pansy could have feigned offense, but she breathed a little easier for it.
"Didn't he used to be afraid of us?" Crabbe wondered.
"I don't think so," Alyssa said with a sympathetic pat on his arm.
The corner of Theodore's mouth turned up. "Malfoy thinks he's going to be the one to take on Potter. Git. There's no way You-Know-Who would let anyone else have him. I call dibs on Weasley."
How could he be so flippant about something so serious? This wasn't just idle talk anymore. It was becoming very real very quickly. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Why not?"
"Maybe because it's morbid? Not to mention deluded. If you have nothing else to contribute to this conversation, then kindly shut your mouth."
"Merlin's beard," he muttered. "You've been a right bitch lately."
Pansy was already half out of her seat before she could think. "Call me a bitch again and I will—"
"Now people are looking," Alyssa said anxiously. "Pansy?"
She sat reluctantly because Alyssa was right. The two strangers at the bar (among others) were openly staring now. It was stupid that she still wanted to jump over the table and claw Theodore's face when she was now just as guilty of endangering them. Her face burned. No sleep, she remembered.
Goyle didn't look any of them in the eye when he suddenly asked, quietly, "Is Millicent coming with us?"
That… was a good question. As far as Pansy knew, Millicent had no idea of what was going on. Of course, none of them had even thought to wonder if Pansy was coming. They had just assumed. Only Draco had doubted her.
"Is that up to us?" Blaise asked. She threw a cautious glance over her shoulder to make sure people were no longer staring before she added, "Malfoy hasn't said one way or the other about it, but if the Dark Lord wants her, then… she has to come. Right?"
"Malfoy hasn't said nearly enough," Theodore muttered.
"Has anyone told him about her failing Malfoy's little loyalty test?"
That was an uncomfortable thought. "Would he even care?" Pansy wondered. "He has bigger things to consider than Millicent Bulstrode." She and Bulstrode weren't exactly the best of friends these days, but she wouldn't wish the Dark Lord's wrath on her. The very idea left a queasy feeling in her gut.
Theodore seemed less concerned for Millicent's well-being. "He should care if one of his recruits is already a bloody traitor. We thought we were doing his bidding when she ratted on us."
"But we weren't."
"She didn't know that!"
There was another factor here. Millicent hadn't told anyone yet about Dean. Pansy didn't know if her silence was due to fear or some last thread of loyalty. She'd promised that her side of the bargain would be to (more or less) keep Millicent safe. But in this case, would that mean making sure Millicent came along or making sure she didn't?
And if Pansy herself chose to stay, then would that mean spending the rest of the year with no one but Millicent Bulstrode to talk to? Merde.
"What are you guys bringing?" Alyssa asked nervously. "I don't really know what to pack, if anything…"
"We're not going on holiday," Pansy said, irritated. There was a headache brewing between her eyes. She really didn't want to be having this conversation.
"No, but we're going to need clothes."
The men at the bar were preparing to leave. The taller one threw some coins on the counter and headed for the door without looking back. After a moment, the shorter followed suit. As if there were any question they were here together.
"What are you doing?" Blaise asked.
Pansy only belatedly realized that she had stood to follow them when she looked down and saw them all looking up at her.
"Leaving," she said. "You're boring me to tears."
Fooled and yet not fooled, Theodore said in a sing-song voice, "You're going to need a stronger stomach."
She frowned. "Looking at your face has been good practice."
"Clever. You're so clever, aren't you, Parkinson?"
The men didn't have much of a head start on her. Yet, by the time she had gotten outside, they were nowhere to be seen.
Pansy didn't know if that made her more disappointed or relieved. She didn't know why she had followed them in the first place. There was just something… off about them. They seemed too interested. Blaise had called her paranoid. Maybe that wasn't too far off the mark.
Still. She couldn't go back inside the pub. She had to go after them if only to assuage her suspicions. She just wanted to see that they were normal men doing normal things on a random day in Hogsmeade.
Pansy picked a direction and made her way down the street. Despite the cold, people seemed excited to be outside. She narrowly dodged a flying snowball thrown by a grinning child. She left the main road after that.
There was something intrinsically clean about Hogsmeade. Crisp, white snow. Happy children running about. Candy shops. Tea rooms. Friendly pubs. Dainty fences meant to keep out nothing more malevolent than a roving goat. Pansy couldn't help but think that these people hadn't learned their lessons from history, but that was an ugly thought. She hoped they wouldn't have to pay for that, hoped that war would never come to this town's pleasant bubble. It felt wrong that they had even discussing the Dark Lord here.
Her errant path took her away from the paved roads to where winter had made open fields into grand white blankets.
Pansy's feet slowed when she saw a group of Hogwarts students who seemed to be playing some kind of game on the field. They were kicking around a— what did Dean call it? A football?
As she neared, Pansy realized she actually was looking at Dean. Of course. She should just turn around and head back to the main road. She should…
Pansy lingered behind a barren tree and watched Dean kick the black and white ball across the ruined field. Ginny Weasley was trying her damnedest to take the ball from him— Pansy thought that's what she was doing— but Dean was too quick. His feet darted around her, quick as lightning, as if the ball were a natural extension of his feet. Pansy didn't realize, but a small smile found its way to her mouth.
Dean still wasn't speaking to her. At least, she assumed he wasn't. She hadn't exactly made any attempts to talk to him either since he had made his desire to out them perfectly clear. There were only so many things she could even say to him at this point.
Weasley's long red hair kept whipping into Dean's face. They were laughing. Pansy wasn't smiling anymore. This kind of easy flirting was what Dean had probably been aiming for when he tried to play the football with her. Flirting no doubt came easily to someone like Weasley.
A stiff breeze had her shivering. She tucked her hands into her pockets.
Pansy told herself she didn't have the luxury of being able to throw herself around as Weasley could, and maybe that was true.
The thought came unbidden: For now.
But that thought led her down a dark road she wasn't ready to seriously contemplate, and she pushed it away. Pansy could only go so far as to try imagining herself down there smiling and laughing with those people.
She couldn't. The picture wouldn't form. Anyway, smiling too much hurt her face. And she hated those people. The only people she and Dean seemed to agree on were each other.
Who were they kidding?
He wanted to tell everyone about them? Dean was being overly sentimental and willfully naïve. It wasn't fair that she had to be the bad guy because she was pragmatic enough to see the pitfalls in his idealism. Never mind the Slytherins. She could just see the expressions on his friends' faces when they found out about them.
Did Dean think Potter was just going to embrace her with open arms after everything was said and done? Unlikely. Granger? Pansy had sent her crying from enough rooms to guess the answer was a very firm, very loud no. Look at how Terry Boot had reacted to her, and she barely knew him from Bob.
And what about her parents? Just… no. It was impossible.
So, what were they even doing sneaking around like some ridiculous version of star-crossed lovers? Those characters always died. What had she been thinking?
She hadn't been thinking because Dean had a beautiful, infectious smile, and she was an idiot. A supreme idiot.
A light cough sounded behind her.
Startled from her thoughts, she turned. And stared.
With her icy complexion and fair hair that fanned out over the white fur stole on her shoulders, the woman seemed more ice sculpture come to life than an actual warm-blooded human being. Pansy thought the pale silhouette's resemblance was an illusion.
But then the illusion acknowledged her with a slight nod. "Pansy."
Her delayed realization resulted in an embarrassing gasp. "Mrs. Malfoy!"
"What the hell are you doing here?" was on the tip of her tongue, but she withheld it.
Narcissa Malfoy regarded her with cool eyes and cooler expression. She looked Pansy up and down, her gaze lingering on the curled edges of short hair peeking out from beneath her wool cap.
"This is lucky. I was just discussing you with my son."
So that was where Draco had run off to. A meeting with mummy.
"I'm heading to Madame Puddifoot's for a cup of tea. Care to join me?"
As if she had a choice. "Of course."
As they left, Pansy purposely didn't look back at the field. She hadn't been doing anything wrong— she hadn't— but she didn't want Narcissa's attention to linger.
Narcissa surprised her by casually looping her arm through Pansy's. Her arm felt thin and brittle, as if her bones were truly made of ice. She held her all the way to the tea shop as if Pansy might bolt in the other direction if she weren't tethered to Narcissa's side. It wasn't a completely crazy notion.
Narcissa naturally drew stares when she entered the tea room. She gave no sign of noticing. Pansy felt far from empowered trailing behind in her shadow.
When the hostess tried to seat them, Narcissa only had to raise a single eyebrow and the hostess, blushing and stammering, redirected them to a better table near the window. Their orders came in record time.
Pansy had to wonder what it was like to so easily wield control over others. Some days, it felt as if she had to bite, kick, and scream to be taken seriously. No one respected her just on instinct. Why should they?
The silence was awkward. Pansy did her best not to squirm. Narcissa's gaze drifted around the room, never finding anything worthy of landing on for long.
For lack of anything else to say, Pansy finally asked her, "Did you have a nice visit with Draco?"
"Of course," she said. "Our conversation was very... interesting." She eyed Pansy over the rim of her teacup. If Narcissa was waiting for Pansy to ask how she figured into this interesting conversation, then she was waiting in vain. Pansy knew better.
"I can't wait to tell my mother that I ran into you," she said instead, feigning a smile. "She's mentioned how... busy you've been lately." Too busy snubbing Violet to give her the time of day.
Narcissa took her volley with grace, not batting an eye. "Do send her my best."
Pansy's smile became wry. Merlin help her, but she just couldn't hate Narcissa Malfoy. Not even with the fresh holiday memory of her mother drunkenly reeling from Narcissa's latest rejection could she hate her. Pathetic and desperate, Violet had driven her humiliation into Pansy's skin until it felt like her own. As angry as it made her, Pansy couldn't help but think in her heart of hearts that somehow this was their faults for not making par with Narcissa's expectations.
Narcissa had always been her idol. She had also always terrified her. Pansy had an unfortunate tendency to idolize, well, terrifying people. Narcissa was a creature carved from diamond and ice, come alive just to remind Pansy that she would never measure up. She effortlessly embodied all the qualities Pansy struggled to emulate. How could she not admire that?
"You're about to be very busy yourself, no?"
Of course Narcissa would know. Pansy suspected that there was very little about Draco that Narcissa didn't know. "So I hear."
Narcissa studied her with keen eyes. "I'm glad to hear it. Draco implied that you were feeling somewhat ambivalent about accompanying him on his… travels."
Pansy felt herself go light-headed as the scales tipped entirely in Narcissa's favor. She wanted nothing more than to look away from that scrutinizing stare, but she didn't dare. She knew, absolutely knew, Draco would never tell his mother about her having doubts. But he must have said something for Narcissa to imply…
"I would hate to think of Draco being abroad without you."
"Would you?" she asked, curious. Narcissa had never given her the impression that she gave her two thoughts when she wasn't right in front of her (if even then).
Narcissa smiled. "You and my son speak French together, no?"
"Oui," she said reluctantly. The question sounded innocent, but in Pansy's experience sudden conversational diversions were traps.
"Of course. Your parents made sure you learned French because they foresaw a future for you with us, didn't they?"
It was a trap all right. Pansy added a spoonful of sugar to her tea and said nothing.
"A prudent idea, if presumptuous."
Before Pansy could defend her presumptuous parents, Narcissa added, "My parents did the same once."
Had they? That was… interesting.
"Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the last Malfoy to be truly fluent in French was Draco's great-grandfather, Sulla."
A bomb casually delivered. Pansy's mouth fell open.
"My husband has no interest in that aspect of his heritage. A pity. I've done my best to right that with Draco, but it is what it is."
It was what it was? Over the years, Pansy had given more time and effort to her French instruction than she had to any single subject at Hogwarts. And all because Narcissa Malfoy had once made an offhand comment to Pansy's mother about how the Malfoys only spoke French at home— something about romantic languages, respecting one's heritage, and blah— blah— apparently a huge bloody lie.
Violet should have known better. Yes, she should have known better because the Malfoys might have acted like visiting royalty, but in reality they were just as common as the rest of them. Her mother was a moron, and Pansy was a moron for letting her do it. She was so embarrassed she could hardly speak.
Okay, maybe she could hate Narcissa. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot.
Anger buzzed between her ears like a swarm of bees. It was a miracle her voice came out as steady as it did. "If my parents thought there was a future, then I'm sure someone gave them cause."
Narcissa raised a delicate eyebrow at Pansy's tone, but she was too upset to be cowed. Had it all been a big joke? Drop the bait and then stand back and watch the monkeys dance?
"Don't you think?" Pansy pressed.
Narcissa held her challenging stare, her expression smooth except for where her mouth twitched in either amusement or irritation. "Perhaps."
"Yeah. Perhaps."
Had Draco known? He knew Pansy's parents had set up the French lessons to impress his parents. Pansy wracked her brain to remember if she had ever specifically asked if he spoke only French at home. She couldn't remember. But it had been ten years. There was no way it had never come up in ten bloody years. Humiliation and betrayal were familiar to her, but they suddenly felt fresh out of the box.
She was going to throttle him.
Her spoon slipped against the porcelain teacup. The sound of ringing porcelain drew Narcissa's eyes like a beacon. Pansy's hand wouldn't stop trembling, and it only got worse under Narcissa's victorious gaze. Giving up, she dropped the hand clutching her spoon onto the table.
She jumped when Narcissa touched her offending hand. "Are you all right, dear?" She was the very picture of sympathetic.
As if there were any doubt, Narcissa's small white hand atop of hers marked her complete defeat. It was sobering if unsurprising. The heat of her anger fizzled, leaving her feeling drained and resentful.
"Perfectly all right," she said quietly. "Why do you ask?"
Narcissa's teeth flashed in a brilliant smile. She removed her hand.
"Do you remember the time you and Draco stole my wand and blasted my flower beds?"
Another surprise diversion. "I… yes?" Pansy didn't know what she had been expecting from this conversation, but the circles were making her dizzy.
"To this day, nothing will grow in that spot."
They had been seven-years-old.
Pansy couldn't help rolling her eyes. It meant officially forfeiting the game of feigned civility, but she was ready to forfeit. Game over, now kindly fuck off. "Have you been waiting all this time for an apology?"
"Draco has always maintained that it was your idea."
"Your son is a gifted liar," she said grimly.
"Yes, he is."
It was the last thing she expected to hear Narcissa admit.
"I remember when you were both children," she said, unsmiling, "and Draco used to cry so fitfully when you left after a visit. I had to promise him over and over that you'd be back. It was as if someone had taken a favorite toy from him. Rather ridiculous."
Pansy had never known about the fits. She didn't know what to say about them now.
"I know you and my son had some sort of disagreement over the holidays. I trust that has been cleared up by now?"
Narcissa knew damn well that it hadn't. She knew everything, remember? Pansy unclenched her jaw in order to say, "Your son and I are not speaking at present."
"That's unfortunate," she said. "In times such as these, it's important to keep your friends close. People you trust. People you love."
Pansy frowned down at her teacup.
"It's also important to keep an eye on your investments."
Investments? She could tell Narcissa was hinting around something, was maybe even going easy on her, but Pansy wasn't about to ask. She didn't want to play anymore. What she did want was to be out of this conversation and out of this tea room. She wanted to curse something into a thousand pieces, preferably Draco.
Her resistance must have been clear because Narcissa sighed. Setting her tea cup down on the table with a definitive clink, she asked, "Pansy, may I be frank with you?"
Maybe she wasn't the only one ready to drop the mask. It was a pretty thought. Skeptical, she said, "Oh, do."
"Your mother is a twit."
Her mouth fell open a second time in surprise. Of all the bloody nerve. "You…"
"But I don't think you are. Are you a twit, Pansy?"
She had to loosen each of her fingers from the teacup's handle before saying, "No. I'm not."
"Contrary to what your parents clearly believe, Lucius and I would never force Draco into anything he didn't want to do."
"I have no trouble believing that."
"We encouraged him to explore his options. But for whatever reason, it's always been you. At age 7, there was the little witch with mud on her knees leading my son into trouble. The playmate with the embarrassing parents and no real connections to speak of, and yet also the one Draco inexplicably couldn't live without."
Pansy pressed her lips together and did her best not to cry. She'd known, had always known how Narcissa really felt beneath that thin veneer of civility, but…
"You, you, always you. And now here we are." Was it wishful thinking, or did Narcissa sound a tad bitter?
She wasn't the only one. "Yes, well," Pansy said, throat gone tight. "Me and everyone else."
Narcissa shrugged. She finally looked just as weary of this conversation as Pansy felt. "I really shouldn't have to tell you that there are necessary sacrifices if you want to live this kind of life."
Once, Pansy had thought her sacrifices would be rewarded with the high-trimmed hedges of Malfoy Manor, along with the obscene water fountain, those ridiculous albino peacocks, the diamond-paned windows, and the fine furniture. She had imagined herself gliding through the long halls, every bit as elegant as Narcissa Malfoy, special enough to belong there. All of that seemed like a foggy dream now.
It was strange to realize how little she had left to lose at this point. None of the things she had ever planned for or wanted were ever going to happen, not if she let Draco disappear into the ether, not if she gambled her entire future on Lord Voldemort and lost. Not if Narcissa really hated her this much.
Narcissa was gambling, too, she realized. Draco was her pride and joy. The idea of him leaving the safety of Hogwarts for the dangerous life of a Death Eater must have been killing her.
What was really happening here?
She posed the same question to mother as she had to son: "And what if I can't do it?"
For the first time that Pansy could ever remember, she saw something like fear on Narcissa's face.
"You can and you will."
She sounded so certain that Pansy had to wonder why she couldn't feel just as convinced.
Narcissa must have read the question on her face because she said, "If you're experiencing cold feet, then I suggest you procure a warmer pair of socks. Because if there is anything anyone knows about you, Pansy Parkinson, then it's that you love my son— without anything resembling pride."
Her voice dropped low, clearly meant only for Pansy to hear. No one was looking at them, but you didn't need eyes to eavesdrop. "Now is not the time to suddenly grow a backbone. Not when the stakes are so high. Not when Draco is going to need you now more than ever. Could you live with yourself if something happened to him and you weren't there?"
Could she?
"I won't insult you by lying. I think you know that you're hardly my first choice, but Draco trusts you and I… I need him to be safe. When it comes down to it, I want you at his back because you're the only one I can trust not to put a knife through it. Protect my son, Pansy. Keep him safe. I'll make sure you never regret it."
Here, finally, was the closest she would ever get to having Narcissa on her knees. A pleasure long delayed. There were so many things Pansy could say. Horrible, vindictive, satisfying things.
Even she was surprised by what actually came out of her mouth. "Mrs. Malfoy, do you regret raising your son to this point? To the point where you actually need me?"
Narcissa glared at her.
"Do you wish you had kept him safe? So you wouldn't have to ask me?"
Narcissa's lip curled disdainfully. "It's so easy to judge other women for the choices they make. But believe me when I tell you that I had no choice, no say in the decisions that led us all here. If I had, then we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Or any conversation."
"Your sister believed there was a choice."
It was worth it to see the color, little that there was, drain from Narcissa's face.
Presumptuous? Pansy preferred prepared. It hadn't all been passive reception on her part. Narcissa's sister and her marriage were public record. The Malfoys could continue paying a small fortune to keep that particular dirty laundry out of the papers, but they couldn't erase the eighteen years that came before the fall, when Andromeda Black had been a regular fixture in the society pages right alongside her illustrious parents and beautiful sisters. As public as public got.
After the war, no one cared about a former socialite from a fallen family, and Andromeda's name hadn't appeared in print since before Pansy was born. But it wouldn't take much to make the right (wrong) people care again. Narcissa understood that. So did Pansy.
"I don't discuss my family," Narcissa said. Her eyes were daggers. "You would do well to never mention that person again."
Pansy pushed her teacup away and stood. They were done here.
"She had a choice. You had a choice. I still have a choice."
"Unfortunately."
Pansy had to appreciate the sheer gall. She really did.
She walked out.
/ / /
The men were waiting for her outside the tea shop.
They had kept their distance, choosing a shop across the street for their stakeout. They could have been any pair of men enjoying a casual smoke between shifts. When they saw her, Tall and Short gave up their spot and started moving down the street. Short turned down an alley. Tall hesitated at the mouth, made sure she was still watching, and then he, too, disappeared down the rabbit hole. Casual as can be.
Against all reason, Pansy followed.
The men hadn't gone far. Likely because they were waiting for her. They watched her approach with even expressions. Tall tipped his hat to her. "Miss."
Pansy had no fear left to spare for them, and so she came right out with it.
"Why are you following me?"
Short had small rheumy eyes. He tapped his nose and winked at her. "Never mind us. Just protecting an investment."
/ / /
It was obvious that the man was about to roll up his sleeve. Her heart jumped up into her throat. Don't, she thought.
Before Pansy could stop him, they were all startled by an approaching voice. "Hey! Hey!"
They scattered like rats. Pansy jumped away from the likely Death Eaters at the same time that they took off running in the opposite direction. Fight or flight. Whether due to fear or caution, they flew.
She wished she could run away, too, when Dean came to a skidded stop beside her. This was just not shaping up to be her day.
Dean seemed torn between seeing to her and pursuing the men. Apparently deciding, he took hold of her arms and looked her over anxiously. "Are you all right?" he demanded.
Really not, she thought. Rather than look him in the eye, Pansy stared at where his hand gripped her arm. "'Course," she croaked. Of all the times for him to show up…
"Were they bothering you?"
If he had to ask, then she was really off her game. But after both Death Eaters and Narcissa Malfoy in the same afternoon, it shouldn't be a surprise if her nerves were a bit frayed.
"What? No. Of course not." Remembering herself, she shook him off, stepping out of his hold.
He clearly didn't believe her. "What did they want?"
Despite the cold, she could feel herself begin to sweat. "You scared them off before they could ask. Something about directions?"
"In a dark alley?" Dean's eyes narrowed at her. "What was that guy showing you?"
Bloody damn shit. She tried to laugh, to look unfettered and innocuous, but the laugh caught in her throat and became a cough. "He wasn't… I didn't see…"
"He was trying to show you something on his arm." She could practically see the dots connecting in his brain. He might not have been as obvious about it as someone like Granger, but Dean was proving himself to be a very bright boy indeed.
"Pansy, did you know them?"
Too bright. Why would he ask her that? What had she done to…? "Don't be silly!"
She must have given something away, because Dean's face fell. "You did, didn't you?"
The irony here was that she actually didn't know them. But the truth felt like a lie.
"Pansy?"
If he wasn't going to let her lie, then what did he want her to say? "Sorry, darling, they're Death Eaters that Draco's mother probably hired to keep an eye on the junior Death Eaters—that would be me, obviously— to make sure that Draco has enough human shields to take a curse for him in the war we're all going to wage on you and everyone you care about. You understand, of course"?
She would tell him the truth, and he would turn away from her, maybe even turn her in to Dumbledore or Potter or whoever was in charge of the tide of moral authority these days. This was the kind of thing that could never stay buried between them.
Pansy couldn't tell him the truth, and Dean wasn't buying her lies. There was no option left other than self-incriminating silence.
She never should have followed the men without first checking to see if anyone was following her. Narcissa probably wouldn't have been so keen on Pansy watching out for Draco if she had seen this shining example of incompetence.
"Pansy, what are you even doing here?"
She wished she knew.
"Sneaking off to meet with shady characters in dark alleys? That sounds like something Malfoy would do."
"So now I'm sneaking off? You made that flip rather quick. Thanks for the benefit of the doubt, Thomas!"
"But that is what you're doing, isn't it?"
She glared at him. "Anyway, you have no idea what Draco would or wouldn't do."
She had meant for it to hurt, with the intentional implication of but I do hanging between them, but she didn't enjoy the stricken look on his face. She just wanted him to back off.
"I don't care what he does," he muttered. Dean shifted uncomfortably, suddenly finding his shoes fascinating or else he just didn't want to look her in the eye while he asked what he clearly wanted to know.
"They looked like… Are they…?"
He wouldn't actually say it aloud, would he? She stepped back. "Please, don't..."
Dean gave her an incredulous look. "'Please, don't?' Do you have any idea how this looks?"
She had a pretty good idea.
Damn but he looked disappointed in her. "You realize this is what everyone expects, don't you? That this is why no one trusts your house?"
It wasn't a good idea to provoke Dean any further, but Pansy couldn't help it. She snorted. "Because we talk to strangers? Do you know how paranoid you sound? What exactly do you think I was doing?"
"I… don't know." He set his chin stubbornly. "But I know it was something because you look like you want to jump out of your skin."
Pansy rubbed tiredly at her eyes. "You just accosted me in a dark alley and started accusing me of… I don't know what. I'm allowed to be unnerved."
She was unnerved. By everything. Would this day never end?
Dean was watching her. "Pansy..."
"What?" she asked grumpily.
He crossed the small distance she had put between them and touched her arm. "Come here."
"No," she said, eying him warily. She took a few more steps back. "Stay there."
Dean shook his head and stomped over to her. Gripping her shoulder, he leaned down and whispered into her ear, "Were they trying to recruit you?"
Bright, bright boy.
What had she done?
Pansy laughed helplessly into his shoulder. "Recruit me?" she murmured. "Recruit me for what?" If he would just say it… she didn't know what. Maybe she would be honest for once.
Probably not.
"For…" His finger wrapped around one of the curls that had escaped her cap. He gave the lock a gentle tug. It seemed he couldn't bring himself to say it, to make it real.
Pansy sighed and leaned into him. She might have missed him a little.
She gave herself a few moments, and then Pansy reluctantly pushed him back. "Dean, just… go back to your football game."
"No."
"You have no idea what's happening."
"Tell me."
He would find out eventually. Everyone would. But not until it was too late to stop them.
Them as in us as in her.
She had probably left Narcissa with the implication that she wouldn't be going with them. But, now that she was standing there with Dean, she couldn't really see herself not going. She was so tangled up in them all, with the Slytherins, the Malfoys, the Dark Lord… Who was she without them?
Pansy smiled sadly. "You want so badly to save me, don't you? You don't know from what, but you want to save me."
A steel undercurrent entered his voice. "Yes. I do. That's why I have to do this."
It was her only warning before his firm grip clamped onto her arm. Before she knew it, she was being pulled from the alley and out onto the street. The sunlight blinded her.
At first, Pansy was too surprised to do anything but try to keep up so she wouldn't trip over herself. But when he didn't stop, when they came to the main street and people were starting to turn and look at them, she began struggling. Was he crazy?
"Let me go!" she demanded. Pansy tried to drag her feet, but she was no match against his pull.
Dean ignored her. He dragged her all the way back to the Three Broomsticks. People stared at them. Too many people. There were Hogwarts students everywhere. They were exposed, and Dean was pulling her around like a mull.
"People are looking," she hissed.
"That's the idea!"
It… was?
The bottom fell out of her stomach.
No.
"No."
Then, louder: "No!"
"Yes."
Pansy twisted frantically in his hold, hissing and spitting with all the ineffectual fury of a wet cat. "You're a lunatic!" she yelled.
"Probably."
He caught her off guard again when he suddenly stopped and sprung her around, pulling her in so she was crushed against his chest. She had all of a second to blink, shocked, up at him, and then Dean played his gambit.
Before all and sundry, Dean kissed her.
/ / /
AN: I just want to thank everyone who has stayed with this story throughout all the years. Your continued devotion has baffled and humbled me. We're nearing the end now. Thank you so much.