Luckily, breathing is a reflex, otherwise Pansy would have easily forgotten how to do it.
"You'd think that Slytherin wants to spy on us," he says as he sits down next to Pansy and Padma in the stands, his hair slightly sweaty, and adds with a wink, "or you two just can't get enough of me."
Roger has no idea how right he is. He looks damn good in his Quidditch uniform, and it's actually the fifth day in a row that both girls have been watching the Ravenclaws' training.
"Don't worry," Pansy replies coolly, even though her heart is pounding with excitement, "I don't know much about Quidditch. I'm just here for Padma. Right?"
"Yes, um," Padma stammers and stands up, "I need to talk to Cho Chang, maybe I still catch her."
"Cho?" Roger repeats.
"Yeah, I want to ask her where she got that fancy skirt from the other day. Right. Well then, see you!"
Padma stumbles through the rows of seats, and Pansy realises that she's alone with Roger Davies for the first time. He gives her a mischievous grin, and she suddenly seems to have some sort of head blockage, so she's glad when he starts talking.
"That's strange. For all I know, you're the one who is envied for her wardrobe even by the fifth year girls."
Of course, Pansy loves to hear these kinds of things. She smooths down her light blue, button-up coat with a high collar and says, "Well, Padma's taste is rather special. Although this Cho looks good …"
"You think so?" he asks, perhaps a little too surprised. "I didn't notice. But anyway, how were your holidays?"
Pansy forces herself to keep smiling. Gemma had delegated all business meetings to her employees; she herself spent the days in bed with drawn curtains, and mourned the final end of her marriage. And except for the evening when the Malfoy ball was held, she never once knocked on her daughter's bedroom door. But at least Pansy got to see Tessy, who prepared her meals three times a day. And while she waited for her father's late Christmas greeting, Pansy enjoys her favourite foods, only to vomit everything again with even more pleasure.
"Oh, you know," she replies, looking at her freshly manicured fingernails, "the usual festive hustle and bustle. And yours?"
"Exhausting, to be honest. My grandfather kept telling me that my team finally has to win the Quidditch Cup again. He was captain at Puddlemere United for years, you know? And my older brother recently signed a contract with the junior team."
"I see. I will continue my mother's business as well."
"So you know what it's like when they pressure you."
In fact, Pansy perceives it as a relief that her future career is safe, regardless of her marks at school. "Yeah, totally … but I'm on your grandpa's side, Ravenclaw just has to win the Cup this year."
Roger laughs. "It's okay, I still like you when you cheer for your own team."
Pansy has to grin. It feels like a thousand butterflies have just exploded inside her. "No, seriously. I can no longer stand Flint peacocking and bossing people around like he's Salazar himself." Which is true, but there are more of Flint's kind in Slytherin. "And besides, it looks great what you're doing. Your team really seems to have some skills."
His expression reveals a certain pride. "Thanks. We have trained hard lately."
"That must be stressful, considering you're also a Prefect."
"Oh, it's not that bad," he says cheerfully. "It's actually quite funny; in theory, I can deduct house points from anyone who gets on my nerves. But then I'd have to start with Snape, who easily owes me five hundred points for the past few years, and I'd be a head shorter, so I really shouldn't."
She giggles, whereupon he looks at her with his chocolate brown eyes, until she blushes and looks down. "Um," she murmurs, overwhelmed with the sudden silence, "the way you threw that ball over your shoulder just before -"
"The Quaffle."
"Yes. Well, that looked pretty cool."
"That's a reverse pass," Roger explains with enthusiasm. "The Chaser - that's me - passes the Quaffle over his shoulder to a teammate flying behind him. You need a lot of experience for this, of course. In any case, we're going to try out the pass in the upcoming games."
"Sounds like you're well prepared."
"Then wait until you see the feint we have planned."
"Mm-hm."
"I head towards the goalposts with the Quaffle until the opponents surround me. Then I drop the Quaffle so that another Chaser below me takes over and rushes to the goal."
"Wow."
"Clever, huh? If you want to learn more, just ask me."
Pansy almost lets out a "No thanks!", but then she has an idea. With wide eyes she looks at him and asks, "What other tricks do you have up your sleeves?"
That same evening, in the common room, Pansy is standing by the fireplace next to the leather sofa, on which Draco is lounging again as if it were his own.
"Give us a minute" she tells Crabbe and Goyle, who sit opposite him.
Draco bites into his apple as he looks at each of them.
"Um, okay." Goyle is about to get up, but Crabbe stops him. "Why should we?" fatso asks, staring at her with his small eyes.
Pansy takes a breath, but Draco speaks first, "Shut up, Crabbe, and do what she says."
Visibly annoyed, Crabbe shuffles to a seating area with armchairs, where he scares away two first year girls. He is followed by Goyle, who, thank Merlin, only almost sits on a cat.
"Go ahead," Draco mumbles, still chewing, without indicating that Pansy should sit down.
"Porskoff," she replies.
"Excuse me?"
"That's what they call a special feint in Quidditch. Something with dropping a Quaffle, I don't know. Anyway, Ravenclaw plans it for the next game. Here." She reaches into her robe and hands him the piece of paper, on which she has scribbled down other tricks and the tactics of Cho Chang, the Seeker.
Skeptically, Draco unfolds the paper and looks at it for a moment. Then, as if in slow motion, he sits up straight. "How did you -"
"I talked to Roger," she explains. "You said I couldn't get any game tactics out of him. Here's the rebuttal."
The way he's staring at her, the piece of apple almost falls out of his mouth.
"Of course I was wondering what you owe me now," she continues, "but I couldn't think of anything good yet. So I'll come back to it later."
Now his dumbfounded expression gives way to his usual arrogance. "And what makes you so sure that I won't let you down?"
"Well, I guess I'll have to trust you on that one. Just like you have to trust me that I'm not fooling you."
"Why would you do that?"
"Maybe for Roger's sake. Or because your stupid paper bird flew at my head in Binn's class today."
"That wasn't on purpose."
"It still bugged me."
A few seconds pass in which they give each other a searching look. Eventually a grin crosses his face. "Are you now Davies' girlfriend or something?"
In fact, she's not. Not yet. But at least Roger asked her if they would meet again after the game in three days. And if everything goes to plan, she can then console him about his defeat.
"You're welcome," she says plainly and turns on her heel.
Pansy has finally fought her way through the crowd of students and down to the field. She passes the Slytherins, who are celebrating Draco for catching the Snitch - and for winning by just twenty points. Flint had given instructions to primarily foil the Ravenclaws' tricks, meaning that the defence of his goalposts received little attention.
Pansy waits at the pitch side. She looks up to the stands, where Daphne, Millicent and Tracey are waving at her with a grin.
While the rest of the Ravenclaw players are talking with serious faces, Roger apparently comforts Cho; an arm wrapped around her, he whispers something in her ear, which makes her giggle. But then Roger notices Pansy, quickly breaks away from his teammate and strolls over to her. Pansy and Cho exchange an icy look.
"Congrats," says Roger. He doesn't seem too depressed.
"I'm really sorry, it was so close …"
"You were better today. The Cup isn't lost yet, maybe we'll knock out Gryffindor next month."
"That bunch of wimps? We should hope so."
Roger laughs, and Pansy's heart beats faster. For a split second his eyes dart to her mouth. Maybe he noticed her new lip gloss. She has put some effort into her makeup, like she always does before meeting him.
"What are you doing later?" she asks.
"I should start studying for my O.W.L.s, I guess. And you?"
"I, uh, have to bring some library books back," she fibs, when suddenly laughter can be heard.
"Hey, Davies! She fancies you!"
They look up to the stands, where Crabbe purses his lips in their direction.
Pansy feels herself blush with embarrassment and anger, but just as she's about to run and strangle that creep with bare hands, Roger grabs her shoulders.
She looks at him in surprise.
He grins. "I hope what he says is true."
"Um," is all she can manage. Because the next moment, he moves his hands to her neck and leans down to her - until his soft lips meet hers.
Luckily, breathing is a reflex, otherwise Pansy would have easily forgotten how to do it. He gently kisses her upper lip, then her lower lip, before their tongues finally touch. It feels so unfamiliar. Wet. And she has no idea what to do with her hands. Still, she blissfully lets herself drift while the cheering of her friends far away is almost drowned out by her heartbeat.
When they separate again, Pansy beams at him. That was the first kiss she had imagined, a kiss that makes her life perfect for a moment and sweeps away her problems.
Smiling, Roger tucks a hair strand behind her ear, and she stands on tiptoes to continue with kiss number two.
*.*.*.*
"Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?" Draco asks, trying hard to hide his envy.
"Yeah, reckon so."
"Got plenty of special features, hasn't it? Shame it doesn't come with a parachute - in case you get too near a Dementor."
Crabbe and Goyle, who can only dream of holding a Firebolt in their hands, obediently start giggling.
"Pity you can't attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy," Potter replies. "Then it could catch the Snitch for you."
While the nearby Gryffindor donkeys laugh, Draco walks off without another word. He's far too annoyed to put up with Potter's face one more second.
Back at the Slytherin table, Marcus Flint beckons him over. "So?" he hisses. "Is that really a Firebolt?"
"Yep."
"Fuck."
"What do we do now?" asks Adrian Pucey, Flint's best buddy and the team's Chaser.
Miles Bletchley, the Keeper, shrugs. "What are we supposed to do?"
"I've got an idea," Flint says. "Those morons are playing against Ravenclaw tomorrow. We'll make sure Dementors show up, like they did at the game against Mugglepuff."
"How are you gonna do that? Dementors won't do you any favours. If you come near them, they'll suck you dry, the end."
"I know," Flint murmurs, sounding not very convincing. "But maybe fake Dementors will do as well. Potter just needs to be rattled at the right moment to let that Asian chick get the Snitch."
Draco snorts in amusement. "You don't need Dementors for that. I bet Potter jumps on her pathetic attempts to flirt. She tried to distract me, too. Stuck to me instead of focusing on the Snitch."
"Whatever, I like my idea, we'll do it," Flint says undeterred.
"And where will you get fake Dementors?"
"We dress up, what else?"
No one says anything, apparently assuming that Flint would laugh at his own suggestion. But he doesn't.
"If they catch us," Draco says urgently, "we can clean the hallways with Filch for the rest of the year."
"We won't get caught! Go tell your bullies, they'll join in too."
"Who?!"
"Crabbe and Goyle. You're not tall enough, so one of them can lift you onto their shoulders."
"Me?" Draco repeats, horrified. But he also knows that if he wants to keep his position on the team, he'll have to take part in this nonsense.
Flint isn't exactly known for his patience - and the list of substitutes is long. In addition, new students express their interest every year, not least because Slytherin has produced more young talents for the pro-league than any other house. So Draco bites back any further comments and swears under his breath.
The next day - who would have thought? - Flint's dumb plan goes wrong: When Potter discovers the four supposed Dementors during the game, he draws his wand to summon a luminous white figure shooting towards them. Startled, they fall to the ground, get tangled up in their hooded cloaks, are put through the wringer by old McGonagall and are punished to have detention for the week. Slytherin also gets fifty points deducted, so their fellow students are obviously upset.
But the matter is soon forgotten, because Sirius Black breaks into the castle again, and especially because Longbottom receives a super-embarrassing Howler from his grandma the next morning. Draco still hopes that Flint doesn't have to repeat another grade, and leaves Hogwarts for good in the summer.
"Have you seen Roger today?"
"Yeah, in the common room."
"Did he say something about me? Or about Valentine's Day? He knows Valentine's Day is in two days, doesn't he?!"
"I don't know, he was talking to Bryce."
"And what was his face like?"
All the way down to Hogsmeade, Pansy wonders if her Prince Charming has looked at the calendar lately, while Padma Patil describes his various facial expressions with saintly patience, and Millicent and Daphne provide their expert assessments.
Draco found that Pansy had become somewhat endurable over time. But now that she's constantly giggling and - when not stuck on Davies' lap - spreading around that she has a boyfriend, she's even more annoying than she was back in their first year.
He actually prefers listening to Tracey and Blaise quiz each other on History.
"When did one of the most dangerous vampire gangs in London wreak their havoc?"
"In 1888."
"Correct. And who did the Muggles blame for it?"
"… No idea."
"Someone named Jack the Ripper."
"Pah, stupid Muggles."
"Hey, where are you going?" Ted asks, as Draco starts following a turnoff to a hill.
"I got things to do."
With a nod, Ted gestures towards the wooden cabin on top of the hill, a derelict and infamously haunted house. "In the Shrieking Shack? Did you lose a bet that I don't know about?"
"I'm waiting for owl post, I'll tell you later. You go on."
"All right, I'll stop at Zonko's first. Or somewhere nobody talks about History homework or Roger Davies."
"Won't take long," says Draco and goes on his way, followed by Crabbe and Goyle as standard.
"What kind of post?" Goyle asks.
"Yesterday the Ministry opened proceedings against that silly bird," Draco explains over Crabbe's panting.
"Bird?" Goyle repeats.
"Hippogriff."
"Hippo … griff?"
Draco stops. "Yes, Gregory. The Hippogriff that attacked me in Hagrid's class."
"Ooh, yeah, right!"
Rolling his eyes, Draco climbs up the last few metres. "Anyway, no one's going to bother us up here - I should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the hearing to tell them about my arm … about how I couldn't use it for three months …"
Crabbe and Goyle laugh scornfully.
"I really wish I could hear that great hairy moron trying to defend himself … 'There's no 'arm in 'im, 'onest -' … that Hippogriff's as good as dead -"
Draco pauses as they reach the top. Someone's standing there. It's Ronald Weasley - and he's alone. A phenomenon just as rare as Hufflepuff winning the House Cup.
"What are you doing, Weasley?" Draco looks between him and the Shrieking Shack. "Suppose you'd love to live here, wouldn't you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room - is that true?"
The redhead takes a step towards him, but then thinks better of it. Wonderful, how easy it is to provoke him.
"We were just discussing your friend Hagrid," Draco continues cheerfully. "Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off his Hippogriff's -"
Splat!
Something cold and wet hits the back of his head. He feels the spot and looks at his hand, from which dark mud is dripping. He's immediately reminded of the evening at the Parkinsons', when Pansy threw a creamy chocolate cake at him. With the small difference that he could see her clearly in front of him.
"What the -"
Weasley can hardly stand on his feet from laughing. Luckily for him, Draco is busy with his hair and Crabbe and Goyle are just inordinately perplexed.
"What was that? Who did that?"
"Very haunted up here, isn't it?" Weasley grins.
Draco stares around, when suddenly a handful of mud rises up from a puddle and hurls itself in their direction.
Splatter!
The muck hits Goyle right in the face, and he staggers around, blind and wailing. If he wasn't upset, Draco would have laughed. "It came from over there!" he calls to the other pea brain.
Crabbe stalks off, arms outstretched, when he is attacked from behind by a stick. Startled, he spins around and trips over his own feet.
At that very second, something so strange happens that Draco initially believes it's his imagination. Because it can't be possible for a classmate's head to suddenly float in mid-air. Unless it's not a normal classmate, to whom normal rules apply …
"AAAARH!" he yells, staring at Potter's ugly head, before rushing back down the hill and towards the castle.
Two days later, Draco still hasn't heard back from Snape about the matter with Potter's head being in Hogsmeade, or about the fact that he apparently possesses an Invisibility Cloak (which might not even be legal!), but at least they've won the trial against Hagrid and his Hippogriff. Better than nothing. His father had convinced the Committee that the beast is dangerous, so it's going to get its head chopped off soon. To prevent this, someone would have to be able to turn back time. Rather unlikely.
After Care of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid escorts his three Gryffindor besties back to the castle. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle gleefully watch him returning to his hut, sobbing.
"Look at him blubber!" Draco says aloud. "Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic? And he's supposed to be our teacher!"
But he doesn't get any further. Hermione Granger runs up to him, her face contorted with fury, swings back her hand and gives him a hard slap around the face.
It seems as if even the birds and the wind have fallen silent, leaving the slapping to echo in the air. Draco stares at the Mudblood bitch in disbelief. The other boys are no less shocked.
"Don't you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul - you evil -"
When she raises her hand again, Weasley tries to hold her back, only to be hissed at. Then she takes out her wand, aiming it at Draco's throat.
He backs away. What else is he supposed to do? Even unarmed, she'd still be a girl, albeit a worthless and vile one. How dare she?
"C'mon," he orders Crabbe and Goyle, standing there completely flabbergasted.
On the way down to the dungeon, Draco lets off steam by using swear words that his mother would be appalled about. In the common room, he heads straight for the dormitory; he feels the need to wash his face that was touched by that filthy Mudblood.
Fortunately, Ted and Blaise are nowhere to be seen, only the girls are sitting together. Pansy still clutches her tacky heart-shaped box of chocolates, a gift from Davies for Valentine's Day. She told everyone who crossed her path today - possibly even Dumbledore knows by now.
"Draco?" says Millicent. "Did something happen?"
His expression must have been a bit grim.
"No," he replies, giving Crabbe and Goyle a warning glance.
Goyle looks even more confused than usual. "But something did happen, Granger hit you in the face!"
"WHAT?" Pansy shrieks.
Draco has to contain himself not to lunge at that idiot.
Tracey claps her hand over her mouth, giggling. "Sorry."
"You're mean, Tracey," Daphne says, watching Draco with concern. "Does it hurt much?"
Now Tracey is bursting with laughter.
"Screw you guys!" Draco says and storms off.
After the incident in Hogsmeade and the Mudblood's face slap, the next Quidditch victory in March is an ego-boost for Draco. They crush Hufflepuff by 180 points, such a piece of cake. The Cup is close enough to touch.
In April, they find themselves on the pitch again, for the match the entire school has been looking forward to: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
Not only the enmity between Draco and Potter has reached its peak, both houses are engaged in small-scale feuds in the corridors and on the school grounds, which even ends up in the hospital wing for two students.
Winning a game has never been more important to Draco. He wants revenge for last year, when Potter snapped up the Snitch from under his nose, although his father had bought the Slytherins brand new racing broomsticks (this time, however, Lucius refused equipping them with Firebolts … or buying Draco an Invisibility Cloak).
As the captains Flint and Wood almost break each other's hands when greeting, Draco fixates Potter. Does that dude know how easy he's got it? Except for living parents, he has everything, the world is at his feet just because he's breathing in and out. He has been accepted on the Quidditch team as a first-year, given the fastest brooms, never truly punished for his missteps, can walk around with an Invisibility Cloak just like that, the list is endless. Not to mention the high fives and applause he gets from nearly the whole school.
Draco stands alone. No celebrity status, no fan club, not one person who would have given him an encouraging pat on the back. There's just Flint, grumbling at him not to let Gryffindor win, as if that depends solely on him.
Draco clasps his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. He cannot afford to lose today.
*.*.*.*
"And it does make a difference whether you cut the sopophorous beans open, or simply crush them. At least if you want to avoid burning your eyebrows off," Snape says, smiling deviously. "Isn't that so, Mr Finnigan?"
Laughter follows, and Seamus Finnigan, who has often caused turmoil in Potions with his tendency for explosions, starts blushing.
Unfortunately, Gryffindor won the game a few days ago as well as the Quidditch Cup, but the charged atmosphere between the two houses has not yet completely subsided. And while Snape hasn't let a class go by without ridiculing at least one Gryffindor since then, Pansy and Millicent get a kick out of bullying Hermione whenever they get the chance. Without raising suspicion, of course.
They have "accidentally" bumped into her several times, put a dead mouse in the hood of her robe, fish eyes in her satchel, and finally shut her into a toilet cabin for half an hour with a locking charm. Just because someone like Tracey has no sense of honour and laughs about it, Hermione took it too far with slapping Draco in his face. Pansy wouldn't even call him a friend, but still. You just have each other's back, it's a Slytherin thing.
"Does it work?" whispers Millicent, sitting behind Pansy.
With great concentration, Pansy nods while moving her wand under the table, so that Hermione's shoelaces are tied together three rows in front of her. She's done just in time before class ends. Everyone is packing up their stuff and getting up, only Hermione falls to the floor with a sharp scream. The students bursts out laughing, even a few Gryffindors. With a bright red face (and visibly confused about the knotted shoelaces), Hermione is helped up by Weasley.
Snape watches Pansy putting her wand back. His eyes wander from her to Hermione's shoes and back, and the corners of his mouth move up for a second. Then he says with an impassive voice, "Stop that noise, everyone out, and fast."
When walking out, Pansy grins from ear to ear. She's overcome by the thrill you feel when you do something forbidden, but get away with it.
June has arrived, together with a sudden heat. The weather has skipped spring and went straight to summer.
On the last day of school, Pansy is standing together in the courtyard with Padma, Lisa and her boyfriend, of course. Roger casually wraps an arm around her. She loves it when he does that. It's great to have a boyfriend, and even better when no one else has one. She'll never forget how Parvati and Lavender stood there with gaping mouths, when they saw them together for the first time.
She's also going to spend most of the summer with Roger, as he asked her to accompany him to the Quidditch World Cup in Devon. She agreed, especially since her father mentioned in his last letter that he's on a business trip during summer holidays, so she can't go visit him.
"Pretty good," says Roger, looking at her certificate.
"Pretty good?" Pansy repeats indignantly. "I have improved! Well, except for Transfiguration and Herbology, but that's just not my thing."
She doesn't mention that Snape reveals the content of the Potions exam to his Slytherins every year, or that, in Hagrids class, they had to solve the dubious task of ignoring a bucket full of worms … and do nothing for an hour.
Padma moans. "Don't remind me of Transfiguration, I lost points just because my tortoise still had a tiny bit of willow-pattern on its shell. Otherwise there was nothing left of the teapot at all!"
"Oh, come on," says Lisa. "McGonagall wouldn't be impressed if a troll read the Tales of Beedle the Bard to her."
Pansy giggles. "And in Goblinish."
"It's called Gobbledegook," says Roger.
"Oh, right."
She's proud that her boyfriend passed his O.W.L.s with top marks, but she likes to push the thought away that he's smarter than her.
"It's a shame that Lupin had to go," says Lisa.
"Definitely," says Padma.
Roger nods. "He was the best DADA teacher I've ever had."
The fact that a werewolf was teaching children at Hogwarts made headlines everywhere; the public was outraged. Pansy is glad too that Lupin was forced to quit. She doesn't care that he is a werewolf, however - she just doesn't want to deal with a Boggart ever again. In her exam, it appeared to her not as her dead brother Andrew, but as her father, who said he never wanted to see her again.
Pansy's stomach suddenly starts rumbling. She gently frees herself from Roger's embrace. "I'm afraid I didn't pack all books yet. See you later," she says, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Exhausted, she leans against the door of the toilet cabin, closing her eyes. Everything is all right. She has a secret. Something to hold on to when her world is shaken. It's there for her, calms her down and leaves a pleasant lightness.
She gets up, opens the door and flinches; Tracey is standing next to the sink, staring at her.
Pansy clears her throat and tries to sound casual, "How long have you been here? I thought you were outside with Daph -"
"Forgot this one," Tracey replies, holding up her mascara. Then her eyes dart to the cabin. "What were you doing there?"
"Nothing! Um, I guess the cornflakes didn't agree with me," says Pansy and grimaces demonstratively.
"Is that why you got up early from dinner two days ago? And on Saturday? And the week before?"
For a moment, Pansy doesn't know what to say, even though she normally has no hard time lying. Then she shrugs her shoulders. "I've been really stressed out lately, with exams and stuff. And stress just gets on my stomach."
"I see."
She knows, of course.
"It's not like I do it all the time."
"Okay."
Pansy is kind of annoyed. Who does Tracey think she is, barging in here because of her cheap mascara and questioning her as if it's any of her business!
"Well then, I'll go -"
"Tracey."
She stops.
"If you tell anyone," Pansy says, swallowing, "I will ruin you."
Tracey returns her look, the silence is deafening. But to Pansy's surprise, she finally nods. Then she turns around without a word, leaves the bathroom and the dormitory, and Pansy is alone again.
She looks in the mirror, but doesn't really like her reflection today. So she concentrates on the pain in the pit of her stomach, giving her a strange feeling of power. A feeling that makes her heart pound - and that she never wants to lose again.
She'll have to be more careful in the future.
~ End of Year Three ~