A silence sneaking around her shoulders hinted to Pansy she was not alone.
She had been stuck in a rhythm. Socks, shoes, books, dissertation notes. Her wand waved too and fro, clinically collecting perfume bottles and casting clothes into her suitcase. Never had she packed so neatly. The clarity in her mind seemed to aid the game of tetris flying through the air, packing possession after possession, sharp fold against sharp fold.
She should have known there would be no secret getaway.
Draco leaned against the door nonchalantly, anger crisp on his face. He was slightly disheveled around the collar and the piercing gaze he gave Pansy hid his inebriation well. Her eyes scattered away when she looked at him; there was no evading the fury gripping his jaw and tightening the muscles in his spine.
The pale scar snaking up his throat was visible, a rare sight. Draco was usually so careful to conceal it. Only Pansy, Potter and Snape knew where the wound started and how it slipped down his body, gruesome in it's length, and ended far too far from where it began. It's source was beneath his jugular, nicking the column of his throat then crossing his collarbone and ending, cruelly, above the lower ribs on the opposite side. Sectum Sempra. As if Potter had tried to cross him out of existence.
Before the sun had set that previous night, Pansy had kissed that scar and thought of war wounds and burns and lost limbs… and how lucky she and Draco had been.
"I was about to say this is unusual," muttered Draco coolly, "sneaking out like a thief in the night. But it's not is it? It's a typical Parkinson tantrum. I thought we'd got beyond such screaming infantilism."
Pansy considered what she could say. 'It's not like that' sprung to her throat and choked there. Indignant shouts, tears, fierce debate…. That's the typical Parkinson response. She could feel the words and screams forming in her stomach. They were all correct. They were all her. But they were not the words she chose to use now. Draco looked like he had been betrayed and she had not even left yet. A strange paradoxical relief claimed her as her eyes remained dry and mind remained clear. She felt sick but sure.
"I was going to write you a letter – rude, I realize, insufficient – however, it was the only way I could think to express myself plainly. I need to explain… I'm just scared I won't do either of us a service-"
"Oh, I can't wait to hear this," he hissed. "Storming out during your own party – and why? Sulking that I invited my friend? Jealous that I spoke to someone other than you – who you told me to speak to? Or is it some other imagined slight? I know you, Parkinson. You'll pout for a day and be fine. Let's not have the dramatics. "
Pansy glared at him impassively.
"You do know me, just as I know you, Malfoy." If he wanted to reduce them to patronizing schoolboy last names, fine. For once though, Pansy's voice stayed calm… almost kind. "Any other time you wouldn't have let me eject Goyle from the house – your house. Any other time you would not even admit to looking at another girl even if the evidence, and more, was plain to both of us. Any other time you would have let me scream and run while you said nothing and did nothing. You know something is different, that something with us is fundamentally wrong for you to even be here, being angry, and trying to stop me."
That stilled his tongue, though his face remained immovable.
"I need to go, Draco, and we need to stop this."
"Stop what?" There was a hint of a naïve plea in his voice that made Pansy's heart swing sickeningly.
"I… I love you. I'll always love you… You're quick, ambitious, attention-seeking, an utter childish pain, and my best friend. Together I honestly think we could conquer the world - if liquor and distractions didn't get in the way." She let out a little hiccupping laugh. "You're almost my other self, which speaks vastly of my own narcissism. The way you behave could be me. And I can't help but accept the fact you will put yourself above everyone, thinking only of you and your own. I love the self-preserving coward in you. And I love how kindness and goodness can slip out the cracks, despite yourself. I even accept the evil in you. How fear and cowardliness could drive you to attempt murder. How loyalty could lead you to lock up innocents in the basement. How cruelty could lead you to… much worse."
Draco stilled, as if he was petrifying before her.
"And-and, this is the crux of the matter, I almost love you more for these offenses. I love the fact you risked others to save your own skin, because honestly Draco, I would hate to live in a world that you were not a part of.
"This is why we're a madness. A tragedy. We condone the worst in each other. We feel we have nothing to prove or improve because we accept each other totally, toxically. I never thought such acceptance could be so poisonous. I think…. I think it would be better if we felt like we had to be better people… whether for ourselves or others. I love you, but being in love with you is making me loathe myself-"
A choke, a growl, a laugh – Pansy was not quite sure – thrust from Draco's throat and he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him. The sound made her jump but suddenly he was upon her, hands in her hair, forehead on her forehead, a kiss bitten from her lips.
"Don't. Don't. I'll be better if you want me to be better. I'll never see Goyle again. I'll never look at her- that girl -Astoria. I'll look after you and you'll look after me. I can't trust anyone else. I can't be alone with anyone else. And the marriage – it will keep you safe- think, Pansy, love… You can make sure we donate to mudblood charities or something."
Despite herself, a laugh escaped her throat. Still there were no tears. She felt entirely resolute. Rarely had she been so sure of anything. So sure of what Draco wanted, so sure of what she was going to do. It was if her actions were engraved in stone. The play had been written and she was just going through the motions. Her body didn't quite seem to agree though and her limbs shook like branches in the wind.
Even though Draco looked so sharply distraught, even though his fingers pressed bruises on her neck, she drank in the last few moments of intimacy. Grey eyes with deep green circles looked at her with severe hurt and confusion. The boy may be problematic, but Pansy had to admit, he was pretty in that unfortunate aristocratic way she had a weakness for. Horribly pretty, and in this moment, horribly hers.
" See," Draco said with a forced smile that manipulated in all the right ways "We can't even break up without making each other laugh. And you're the only one I'd let make such a damp, weeping mess of my bedroom… then again you are the only one who could manage to look so tastefully distraught while doing so. I want to marry you, and I want us to be bitter and happy. We can have explosive arguments, smash the disgusting green china and suffer each other's iciest silences." He enveloped her in his thin arms, kissing the spot on the side of her neck where a constellation of freckles began.
"And then we can passionately make-up. Think, Pansy, us together. Protecting each other as we do now. We're inevitable. The worse thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had- none of that matters. Your dark deeds are nothing to mine. And we'll stand by each other, no matter how beastly we are."
With the utmost gentleness, she took his hands from her face and stole one last kiss, admiring that sacred space of closeness and how her words had not seemed to scrape the surface nor made any impact on him.
"It shouldn't be that way. You're right… We're dark and desperate and damaged. And we would always forgive each other. So what is stopping us from cruelty? Nothing. No disproval, no guilt. That is what we would be… and I don't want that. And I don't want that for you. You need someone with whom you can start afresh. Someone you want to impress, for who you want to be a better person. And… and I think I need that too. I love you, Draco, but I don't think I should."
She swallowed, her throat thick. "When I saw you with Greengrass-"
"She means nothing," His voice sounded like broken glass.
"I'm not jealous," Pansy half-lied. "I know you. You were showing off. Or were trying to. You were trying to show her you weren't all bad. You were being the charming, ambitious, selfishly charitable Malfoy that you should grow into. You were joking, not scheming. That's the person you should be. We both need to be like that. Attempting goodness, not reveling in shadow and luxuriating in how awful we are. I think our other halves need to almost act as a self-imposed conscience, not a demon on both shoulders. So go in there, stop Marcus talking to her (which I'm sure he his), get her a drink and try persuading her you're not all that bad by not being all that bad. I think you'd make a better effort for her than me – or at least you'll have to. She's delightfully high maintenance and lives on a high horse on the highest moral road. It'll be a lot of effort. Whereas we live comfortably in each other's sins, sinking lower."
"No," replied Draco hoarsely. "Don't do this. Stop joking about this. Stay."
"I'm afraid that's not something you have any control over," she said, placing the silver and green engagement ring in his hand, feeling finally free.
Pansy never quite remembered those last few moments of leaving. She chose not to. Draco, for all his occasional old-fashioned honour, felt bound to try anything to keep her. Harsh words were said on his side and for once she did not feel like returning them. She collected her bag, took a fortune's worth of alcohol and disappeared into the night air.
The moon's light spun a black magic around her, illuminating the heaven and making the snow glow with eerie beauty. The air was deliciously cold and the distant revelry had an alienating comfort to it. As she walked, the gradual quietness allowed her the comfort to let out a few singular sobs. She drank in the air, and spilled out the misery. But she felt better. She did, she did, she did.
There was a moment she doubted where she should go. What if she was not wanted there, either? What if turning up was inappropriate?
Her home may be empty except for house elves but it was there. As was Luna's offer of a place for Christmas. She could even head back to Romania – surely it would not be completely abandoned?
Then Pansy remembered she was Pansy and such self-doubt was ridiculous. She had a verbal invitation and a plea for rescue for Merlin's sake. She'd make herself welcome.
The air popped with a particularly determined clap as she apparated out of existence.
Her feet left the icy path and landed in snow.
It reached up to her knee and earned the air a particularly violent curse as she materialized into existence. Swearing all the more, she leapt, toes freezing, guarded only by tights.
Mist puffed out of her lungs as she shivered, regarding the Burrow before her. She had no idea what to expect. It was a tall house, extension crookedly built onto extension, bent over like an aged man. It looked worn, but loved. Light shone from every window, illuminating the countryside around her like the only ship sailing in a dark and lonesome sea. It was as bright as happiness, safety.
Two heads were visible through the ground floor window. A plump woman and a man of a similar age whose hair shone in a recognizable red. They seemed to be bickering in a contented fashion while wandering round a kitchen cluttered high with Christmas, no clue that they were being observed by an outsider.
She was Pansy Parkinson and there was no way she would have the courage to knock on that door.
The choice was already made for her.
A third head was frozen at the window. His curls burned brightly in the light. She would know that broad silhouette anywhere, though she could not see his face – only that he had stopped moving completely.
Suddenly he was out the door and worry upon worry flooded her. Charlie was in such haste that he left the front door open as he bounded across the snow. Pansy dropped her bag, wondering whether she still had time to apparate away. His face was obscured by the night. What was his reaction?
Snow trudged up his leg as he approached, her name a question on his lips. She was very away of the ghost of emotion on her face, how drained she was, how her dress was all gothic inappropriateness for turning up at this hour –for turning up at all- and how she was not sure she had anywhere else to go. Or anywhere else she wanted to go.
Charlie's arms fell securely around her, a ridiculous smile on his face. So bright and lovely. His warmth was so needed and Pansy found her arms tying round his neck as she buried her face into the safe solidness of his shoulder.
"Fancy seeing you here," he mumbled into her neck, tightening his hold.
"You said you needing saving," She tried to joke before guilt suddenly overwhelmed her. "But I realize that was probably a joke, and I can go-"
"Are you kidding?" Charlie said, moving back to study the darkness in her eyes. "This is the best Christmas Eve gift I could wish for."