Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I make any money.

Formal

Pansy hunched over her sketchbook as she worked furiously in the back of the DADA classroom while the practical portion of the class was going on. She normally would never have brought her sketchbook out with this many people around but she had finished all of her homework. That and she found she couldn't stop herself from wanting to capture something she saw as the DADA students dueled each other, working on offensive and defensive strategies.

She had had some formal art training when she was younger but it had been cast aside when she started Hogwarts. Her parents started focusing and pushing her to make valuable allegiances. Ultimately, their goal was for her to secure the best marriage for when school ended. With all the appearances, manipulations, and planning that those kind of matches required, there was never time for formal training anymore. Pansy never minded though. She never thought she was really that good at drawing anyway but it did helped her relax so she just did it anyway for fun.

Occasionally, she would look up to find the detail she was missing in trying to capture Ron's face as he dueled Nott. She didn't have to worry about Nott, she had drawn him a million times before; she even knew about the small mole he had behind his left ear. Once she thought she had it, she would bury her head back into her arm before continuing her work; trying to do Ron's intensity, passion, commitment, honour, and determination adequately.

Though she was focused on capturing every detail of Ron, she never realized that she, herself, was being watched.

After dismissing the eighth years, Bill Weasley sat back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. He had several minutes before the third years would start running in for their class.

Using his time to collect his thoughts, his mind focused on the Parkinson girl who had been sitting in the back of his classroom. He had noticed the exact moment she had put away her homework as her eyes slowly scanned the room back and forth for several minutes. The behaviour had intrigued him so he allowed her to continue without his interruption while he wondered about what exactly she was going to do.

He hadn't been sure what to expect but he was sure he hadn't expected her to pull a large notebook worn from lots of wear from her bag and a small bag. Bill took a step back at first out of the way of his dueling students to watch further. He was surprised to see her flip through pages before settling on one and then as if what she was working on was some great secret, she stretched her arm around the book protectively and laid her head down on it.

If he hadn't been paying attention to her unusual behaviour from the beginning, he would have been concerned but now he was just curious. He tried several times to move towards her to get a better look but she always seemed to know when he was near by and quickly stopped whatever she was working on. The page, he had been able to steal a glimpse at, had been blank when he was finally able to get close enough to take a look without her clamming up around the notebook protectively..

Kicking his feet up and resting them on his desk, Bill noticed a folded piece of parchment that hadn't been there before. On top of it lay a scrap of parchment with a simple message in a eloquent, stylized hand –

This will be the longest I have gone without this near me since it was given. As such I would like the parchment back as soon as you are done. Unfortunately it was the last thing she ever gave to me and I know it will be hard to believe, but it does mean the world to me; as all her gifts did. To me and everyone who once could freely care.

Putting aside the scrap, he tentatively touched the parchment unsure; more because of the ominous tone of the note, than a worry of dark magic. Bill felt horrified at the thought that the person who had originally given the parchment was no longer a part of this world any longer. Feeling no lingering touches of magic from his tentative touches, he carefully opened the parchment up and gasped at what he saw.

Laying the parchment gently on his desk, he studied the beautiful drawing of Blaise Zabini laughing at some unknown joke.

The artist had captured every detail of the young man with stunning accuracy: the sculpted cheek bones; the hooded eyes that held a twinkle within; the thick full lips with rows of perfect white teeth; his dark skin that appeared so soft and smooth; his cloths appearing to move with the gesture. The drawing appeared to have been done only with charcoal, though the absence of colour did nothing to distract from the liveliness of the picture – every detail lovingly captured and distinct. Bill found himself ready for his student to jump out of the paper.

But there was a detail out of place, one that suddenly explained everything to Bill.

Instead of the usual snake pin that Zabini wore in his tie, there was a pansy within the curl of the snake – almost invisible to the casual observer.

Bill sat back in his seat. His eyes never leaving the image of Zabini while he wondered why Zabini's note made it seem like Pansy was dead, when she had just been in the same classroom as him just minutes ago.