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Draco couldn’t remember not knowing Pansy. It was a weird sensation, being unable to draw back your memory far enough to visualize your first encounter with someone. If he concentrated he could make out the silhouette of a recollection. An unfinished painting slowly pulled from the cloudy haze of lost childhood toys and scraped knees and pinched cheeks.
He figured the first time he’d met Pansy had involved one of their mothers’ social visits. He could almost imagine the mindless polite chatter and subtle gossip that filled the air around them as their toddlers sat mere meters away, refusing to share their toys.
But the first memory he truly had of her was outside. Draco had received his first proper broom two days before, on his sixth birthday, and she’d been invited for a playdate.
He hadn’t liked Pansy too much then. All she wanted to do was play house and try to talk like adults. And Draco understood wanting to socialize with their parents, the weight of keeping up appearances even then. He was the Malfoy heir, after all. But there was no need for that when it was only the two of them, right? Why couldn’t she play with him outside in the Manor’s gardens? She pouted too much about ruined dresses and grass stains in a tone that sounded exactly like her mother’s and it bored Draco.
That day, though, he’d been excited when the Parkinsons had arrived through the Floo. Mother took longer than he would’ve liked to allow them to venture outside, but he’d eventually found himself dragging Pansy off by the hand, ignoring her inquiries. “Just watch,” He demanded as he picked up the broom with ease.
When he cast himself back into his six-year-old self’s perspective, there were so many things that wouldn’t spring to mind about that day. Not the color of Pansy’s dress or what he’d had for breakfast or even what they’d done after they’d stopped taking turns flying. But he still recalled, nearly ten years later, the look of wonder in her eyes as he lifted himself into the sky, higher than any of the toy brooms he’d flown before had taken him.
And Draco had always known that he enjoyed attention. He’d been paraded as the Malfoy heir from birth, praised for simply existing as the junction of such noble houses, the purest of pure. But no one had ever fawned over him with such admiration as little Pansy had that day. Just watch, he’d told her, just watch me. It made him swell with pride to notice the wideness of her eyes. How she’d complimented his flying with such genuineness and asked for his help to steady herself when she attempted to follow.
Twelve-year-old Draco hadn’t appreciated the brunette’s devotion just as much. Right around their tenth birthdays, she’d changed. She’d try to hold his hand all the time and sat too close to him and never liked it when they had more company besides the two of them.
Slowly and steadily it became suffocating. By the time they’d gotten to Hogwarts, he’d taken to flanking himself with Crabbe and Goyle to keep her away. She was patient and persistent though, ever the Slytherin, always finding excuses to bother him. Hurrying to sit next to him in the Great Hall and bribing his makeshift bodyguards with sweets to leave them alone. He’d found eventually that allowing her to orbit the space around him was easier than swatting her away, so he’d quieted down his complaining. Especially since she seemed eager to hear him rant about Potter, validating his qualms about the supposed Savior.
That’s where they’d been when it happened. Huddled together on a couch in a near-deserted common room, Draco complained about Hufflepuff and Gryffindor’s game and how Potter didn’t deserve the appraisal he got as a player.
“They say he’s the youngest seeker in a century as if he wasn’t allowed onto their team based on blatant favoritism! No other first years allowed at tryouts but Saint Potter gets a reserved spot on the team! And it’s not like his technique’s any good. His flying is just reckless, moronic moves- Did you see the way he almost trampled to the ground before he caught the snitch? Circe, I can’t wait for the day that bastard flies off and shatters his teeth. That imbecile of a mudblood who always takes his pictures, Creevey? I’m betting you he’d fashion the broken teeth into a necklace, the little creeper. That’s all Potter wants, too, you know? Mindless little fans like the Weaslette and Creevey who prance ar-”
She kissed him. It was quick and chaste and he couldn’t even remember seeing her lean in, he just registered it once her lips had already left his. It stunned him into silence and by the time he was looking at her, he was blushing. He sputtered something undignified as she stared at him with an unimpressed look in her eyes despite the big smile on her face. “You were talking too loudly,” She justified. He blinked. She shrugged. “I’m heading to bed, it’s late. See you tomorrow, Draco. Wait for me before breakfast.”
His mind went blank before it flooded with static as he began to process what had happened. And as he followed suit down to his dorm, he could hear his mother’s voice ringing softly in his ears. “You’ll learn to find it flattering,” She’d mused once, hearing him ramble about Pansy’s behaviour over the summer. This wasn’t flattering, per se. More so confusing. There was no pride in his chest, no feeling of grandeur like that first time flying. Blimey, all he had wanted was to complain about Potter.
She didn’t kiss him again until the summer before third year. It was a different sort of kiss, far longer than the first- although it probably lasted less than ten seconds- and he still hadn’t liked it. But their mothers gossiped about their apparent relationship and Pansy seemed happy. Her voice lost that shrillness it had gained in the past couple of years when she wasn’t always trying to impress him, and it just felt like having his friend back. Albeit a friend who he had to snog sometimes, but Slytherins knew when to compromise for mutual profit’s sake. And it wasn’t as if he hated it or anything, it wasn’t bad or even too awkward after the first couple times, just… Meaningless. Unremarkable. Whatever he was supposed to feel when his first girlfriend kissed him wasn’t there and he figured that maybe this was the norm. If this was all dating was supposed to feel like, then he was unsure where his peers’ enthusiasm came from but he stuck it out. Like chatting to his father’s business partners or entertaining guests at his mother’s dinner parties. A societal obligation for him to carry out.
When they were fourteen was when he first started watching her. Properly watching her. He was good at reading expressions when he tried, good at masking his own too. Blaise figured he was better but the only difference was that his approach was a truly blank poker face. Draco’s had more of a flair, as most things related to the blonde tended to have. A smirk, half narrowed eyes, and an eyebrow raise combined with a studied walk created an air of arrogance that could shield even the strongest of responses. Using people’s preconceived notions against them gave him a hint of satisfaction he never failed to harvest.
But the flip side to these assumptions was that none of them were necessarily wrong. Draco was as self-absorbed as they claimed and he knew deep down he was just as selfish. So it was easy to bury his head under worries about his future, his father, and even trivialities such as Quidditch or Potter, and fail to notice the details.
Pansy’s smile never really reached her eyes. She never kissed him unless someone else was around. They spent time together and enjoyed it by their lonesome but around others, it felt like a chore. And not just to him.
He found eventually that Pansy had a wandering eye. Still into snooty blondes with light eyes and names starting with the letter D, ironically. It didn’t take too long during their fourth year for him to notice the looks she snuck at Daphne, how she would cancel their Potions tutoring sessions in the library to walk the grounds with the Greengrass heiress, how she seemed to light up a little when the usually quiet girl spoke up during conversation.
Any suspicions of his were only solidified in his brain when his girlfriend confronted him instead of the other way around. And about someone as ridiculous as Potter, no less.
“I know, Draco,” She was deadpan and determined. Her foot was tapping against the hardwood floor of his empty dorm room with a nervousness usually foreign to her and he swore her fingers were shaking.
“Know what?”
“About Potter,” The confusion that coated his face wasn’t fake, he didn’t often feel the need to shut Pansy out of his thoughts when they were alone. “About how you feel about Potter.”
“Everyone knows how I feel about Potter…?” He trailed off after a moment of silence. She began to pace and he only deepened his frown as he watched her from atop his bed. What stupor had she worked herself into now? “I’ve made my distaste quite clear over the years, Pans.”
“I’m not talking about your petty rivalry, Draco!” She borderline shrieked. Pansy seemed shaken and desperate. For an understanding, for him to confirm her ideas. He could tell she’d mulled this over for a while, whatever it was, and had reached her limit. But it wasn’t malicious, the look on her face. Just very frantic.
She calmed herself with a single inhale and cast a silencing charm with a flick of her wand. Draco didn’t look any less confused and it wasn’t helping. “I mean how you actually feel about him. For someone so articulate, you’re atrocious at talking about your feelings, but you will because you need to. I need you to. Everyone in this house is a liar-” He tried to stop her but she silenced him quickly. Usually, it wouldn’t work on him, but this situation seemed too dire and he was too perplexed. “Everyone in this house is playing a part. It’s all politics and we all know it. But you and I? We don’t lie to each other. I’ve put up with too much of your nonsense over the years for this and we both know that. We both deserve more than that. So just bloody admit your obsession for what it is so I can have some peace of mind. Do it for your own sake if you won’t do it for mine.”
And he wished he could’ve. He truly did. He wanted to give her whatever it was she craved so she’d stop this tirade. But try as he might, he didn’t know what she meant. When he told her as much, her sigh was poignant.
“We’re both miserable, Draco. We have been for a year now. Does that ring any bells? You’re not this thick, you’ve never been. You fucking fancy him and you know i-”
“What? You’ve truly lost your mind now, Parkinson, you’re halfway off the rails. I’d never disgrace myself with that berk, nevermind care for a bloke at all. You’re officially bloody mental if you believe that.” He’d heard rumors. People whispered and talked about which students were bent and he knew there were a couple. If he’d ever wondered if Potter made the list, he wouldn’t admit to it. Besides, gossip was unreliable. He’d heard his own name make the rounds a couple of times as if that wasn’t ridiculous.
Leave it to a blood traitor or a mudblood to be queer, but never someone of Draco’s standing. At least, never openly. Certain members of affluent families kept companions outside of their marriage, oftentimes same-sex ones, but they indulged themselves only after maintaining their image and priorities. Preserving the bloodline above all else. That was Draco’s job. And he’d never sully himself with the likes of Potter. With his foolish idealism and disregard for tradition and halfbreed status. Draco only lost focus around him from the anger the Gryffindor invoked in him, nothing else.
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be this defensive.” Was Pansy’s eventual remark. It struck a nerve.
This was where being truthful with her got him. Not hiding his expressions, not wearing a mask. It meant he could read her, but she could read him just as well. And if Draco was a book, then he was leather-bound, tied up and locked shut with the key tossed in the Black Lake.
Draco had always liked attention. Draco had always known how to mask his emotions. And Draco had always known how to push people away. So, allowing his tone to sharpen and his gaze to harden, he spoke. “Whatever sick companionship or sympathy you’re searching for, you won’t find it here, Pansy. I’ve seen you around Greengrass, I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not like you. Whatever comfort you think I can bring you, I can’t and I won’t. If you want to disappoint your entire family by giving into these compulsions then so be it, but you won’t drag me down with you. I don’t give a damn about Potter besides the fact that he’s a nuisance and I’d love it if he dropped off the face of the Earth. Might take the initiative and push him off the Astronomy tower myself. Stop asking me to admit to your own lapses of judgment, it’ll get you nowhere.”
There was no true bite to it besides his own inner panic and she knew it. The sad expression that befell her only lasted a moment before she bit her tongue and resigned herself to a nod. She left silently. That’s the first time since they were six that Draco hadn’t seen her attempt to get the last word.
That conversation wouldn’t be brought up again until years later after another war was waged, familial ties lost all their meaning, and any inkling of old pureblood status was decimated.
When the Yule Ball came, they went together. They still held hands and played their parts. Pansy still looked at Daphne. Draco still hated Potter.
They didn’t snog anymore.