Chapter Text
1st Chapter - Coming up for air
Pansy’s POV
Waking up was not my favourite part of the day.
Having to abandon the safety of my bed, this private little world of mine where there were no expectations and no standards to meet, was frightful to say the least. Behind these flimsy curtains I didn’t have to be a prime example of a poised pureblood witch, I didn’t have to keep my posture always upright and not let my shoulders crumble under the weight of the family name. In this bed I could relax for a bit, sweep the snarl, disgusted look of my face, could stop preparing the snarky comments I kept at the tip of my tongue for when the opportunity arose. I could drop the mean persona.
At first it was just that, an act, a character I played. Being the mean girl was easy, even fun, and most importantly it kept my parents pleased, pleased to see their daughter was brewing inside herself the hatred they often preached. And to have my parent’s approval, seeing their almost prideful eyes whenever I stated how despicable mudbloods were, seeing them show any breach of affection towards me instead of the usual contempt, was worth it. The guilty pull I felt whenever someone’s face fell at my nasty words palled in comparison to that feeling of elatedness, and in time, the guilty pull diminished into a residual buzz at the back of my mind, a nagging itch I forgot about most often than not. I felt numb, apathy seeping into my days, the motions I had to follow ingrained in me by now.
I wasn’t sure I was pretending anymore. The line that distinguished between the real Pansy and the bitch Pansy was blurred at best, inexistent at worth times. I wasn’t sure anymore if they weren’t the same person…
“Pansy, get your ass out of bed or you’ll be late for breakfast” – Daphne’s voice broke me out of my thoughts and I shook my head forcefully.
“Being fashionably late is a statement, take some notes.” – the Parkinson’s trademark sarcasm already in place, never missing a beat. I heard her huff and turn to head towards the door, her footsteps clicking on the wood floor.
“Well, try not to be too late or you’ll be starving-ly late instead.” – she retorted from further away, the sound of the dorm’s door closing behind her.
I pushed the curtains aside and sat on the bed. There was no reason to dwell on those useless musings. Scowl back in place, I got up and started getting ready for another day of being Slytherin’s Princess, Pansy Parkinson.
Hermione’s POV
Early autumn’s chill was felt everywhere on days like this, the thick walls of the castle serving as barely any barrier to the unforgiving cold. I shiver slightly, cursing myself for foregoing the extra layer of clothing this morning.
Ron is going on about Quidditch and some new “super” broom he has read about in one of those meaningless sports magazines. He is the only one actually in a good mood or a semblance of such, probably because he is eating right now. Everyone else is detached from their surroundings somehow. Harry has been in an ever fouler mood since his quarrel with Umbridge begun, understandably so, and today was not an exception. Ginny, well, I’m not quite sure what the matter with her is these days, she has been pensive and withdrawn, not as bubbly as before. Perhaps it’s worry over Harry or the fact he doesn’t give her the attention she has craved for years, her adoration going unnoticed only by Harry himself.
“I mean, flying with that thing should be just like gliding through the air! You could probably do it with your eyes closed.” – Ron continues enthusiastically – “You’d catch the snitch in half a second mate!” – he bumps Harry slightly with his elbow. Harry barely responding, a muffled agreement escaping his lips.
I envy Ron and his ability to remain carefree even when things are etic around him. Besides all the problems surrounding Umbridge’s unfair approach to teaching and Voldemort’s return which the Ministry refuses to acknowledge, the mounting work of the fifth year is driving me insane already. With OWLs approaching everything is a whirlwind and I am on full speed in order to keep up with all my studying and homework, and it’s just the first term. Just last night I barely slept trying to perfect that bloody essay for charms after the rounds as Prefect. I just couldn’t find the right words for the conclusion paragraph for Merlin’s sa- Oh hell, I forgot the bloody parchment in the dorms and class starts in – 5 minutes- Bloody hell.
I hastily get up, inquisitive eyes staring back at me.
“I forgot the Charm’s essay in my dorm, I need to get it before class starts.” – I say as I step out of the long bench. Ron turns pale at my mention of the work, work he most likely forgot about. I pay him no mind as I rush out of the Great Hall. Hearing him in the distance.
“There was an essay for today?” – I shuckle at myself – some things never change – before I am colliding face first with another body.
Parchment and quill scatter to the ground. I rush to pick them up and apologize, only to find Pansy Bloody Parkinson scowling back at me, disgusted look on her face, and the apology dies on my lips.
“Parkinson.” – I mutter in the most unpleasant tone I can muster.
She snatchs her things from my hands rather forcefully and looks at the quill with marked disgust as if it has been tainted by something toxic. Which, I suppose, is what she considers me after all.
“Granger. You filthy specimens can’t even watch where you are going? Now I’ve got mud all over me.” – The pointed disdain in which she says the word almost burns and I flinch imperceptibly (I hope).
Before I walk past her I can see her smirk. She knows her words affect me and she gets pleasure out of it. Sociopath.
As I walk away, anger now searing through me, my only thought is how much I despise that girl.
Pansy’s POV
Christmas vacation this year was not as uneventful as previous years, although not for me. My parents were always either not home or conducting secretive meetings on our dining room, forcing me to the seclusion of my room most of the time. Not that I mind. I don’t have any desire to engage in conversation with most of my parents’ guests, with the exception of Draco whenever he accompanied Lucius. I enjoyed Draco’s company greatly, we always had something to talk about, something to joke about. I trusted him more than anyone else. He is my best friend.
My parents however want him to be more, push me towards it unrelentingly ever since we could both walk. The pressure had gotten worse since we had reached puberty, and somehow all of it had been laid on me, Draco being blissfully free from any pestering. Like my mom always preached “Boys are wild creatures, it’s our job to conquer them, make them want us.” So the conversation I had with mother one night after one of the meetings in which Lucius had brought Draco was all but surprising.
“Pansy darling, how are things with Draco?” – mother asked rather casually over a light diner, to keep me in shape as she put it.
“Fine, we get along really well as you know. He is my best friend.” – I answered nonchalantly while I ate.
“Just a best friend?” – my mother pierced her lips, the disapproving look on her features accentuated by the slight furrow in her brow.
I knew where she was getting at immediately and groaned internally – “For now yes, but I aim to be more mother, as we have discussed.”
Discussed was a rather generous understatement for the consistent imposition it had been for years now, I knew all the words my mother was going to say, they were the same every time. “You cannot afford to be less than perfect for him Pansy. Marrying Draco is a privilege, a gift me and your father worked hard to secure for you, for your future. You cannot do anything to ruin this, to taint the Parkinson name.”
“You need to try harder, aiming is not enough. You are both of an age when relationships form between men and women, you should be together by now. What are you doing wrong? Are you doing what you need to make him happy? You mustn’t be.”
The conversation was always about how I needed to make Draco happy, to make my parents happy. My happiness was never brought up, never even given a second thought. It was as if no one even remembered I had one, I was just a tool to make everyone else happy, to carry the family name forward, smile politely and speak only when spoken too.
“I will try harder mother, I won’t ruin this.”
“You better not.” – she said firmly while she got up and walked out of the dining table, leaving me to finish my dinner alone, with no hunger left.
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I started second term with the same ice cold demeanour and a renewed determination to get Draco’s attention in a more romantic way. And so I often found myself alone with him. Like right now, as he scowled deeply from a not entirely positive match with Gryffindor.
“Hmpf!”
“What’s the matter, Draco dear?” – I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Nothing, nothing.” – he said dismissively, not one to show weakness, even when the pain was obvious in his movements.
“Did you go to Madame Pomfrey after the match?” – I asked already knowing the answer. Far be it from Slytherin’s Prince to request help, more so after a clash with Harry Bloody Potter in a Quidditch match we lost.
“There was no need, I already told you.”
“Don’t be daft Draco.” – I snapped – “There is no one else here but me, you do not need to play the unbreakable prince. I know you are far from it.” – I approached him, his shoulders relaxing slightly. More gently, I added - “Let me see.”
Draco looked around and after confirming we were in fact alone, he shifted his robes away, lifting his shirt slightly to reveal a nasty purple and black bruise catching most of his left side.
“Ouch dear, this doesn’t look well.” – I say, twisting my face in concern.
“It feels fantastic.” – Draco snarled.
“This is not the time for sarcasm. You need to go to the medical wing.”
“No.” – he said sternly.
“Draco, this really needs to get checked out. Please.”
“I won’t go, Pansy. That is final. I won’t show weakness because of that twit Potter.” – I knew from his tone that there was no convincing him right now. – “Besides, this will heal itself. Malfoys have impeccable physical characteristics.”
I rolled my eyes at the typical egotistical remark to mask any fragility on his part. “Promise me that if that doesn’t look better in a week, you’ll go to Madame Promfey.”
“Yes, Pansy. I promise.” – I could tell he was being less than truthful but decided not to push the subject for now.
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During the following week I occupied most of my free time with research, securing an almost a special place in the healing session of the library.
A grimace had taken a permanent location in Draco’s face, the pain apparently not having diminished. It hadn’t stopped him from doing anything, but the way he doubled over himself when we were alone was all telling. That was the reason I had buried myself in books trying to find and perfect a spell to heal him.
Unfortunately it had led to more encounters with Granger than I would’ve liked. Usually I would have jumped at every chance to tease the muggleborn, however I had more pressing matters in hands and her scowl being directed at me was a distraction I could not afford, not when I was getting ready to heal my future husband.
On her end, she seemed to grow more aggravated each time our paths crossed in a space I recognise had been her safe place before.
“Do you have a problem Granger?” – I snapped my eyes from the book I was currently reading to face her, my gaze sharp.
“I’m just wondering what on Merlin’s name you are doing here, Parkinson. You don’t strike me as the studious type, unless you are researching new ways to be an insufferable cunt.”
Hearing her say that word sent a jolt through me I couldn’t quit place, but it was fast drowned underneath the rage and confusion. The sort of aggressive language was, to say the least, uncharacteristic of her.
“You know nothing about me.” – my voice was dangerous, low.
“I know enough. You are merely a bully, whose goal in life is to get Malfoy to look at her for more than 5 seconds, marry him and have lovely old devils for children.”
The rage inside me was burning now. That was not who I was. She knew nothing. They knew nothing about me, about Draco. About what I was meant to be, what my future was meant to be. The rage made me feel alive like I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was as if all of my insides were set ablaze. A monumental fire burning my every cell. Who would’ve known that being insulted by Hermione Granger could feel so invigorating.
“You lot think you are all high and mighty, righteous and honourable and brave. But look at you making the same judgemental remarks you censor me for. We all have hate inside us, some of us just are not hypocrites about it.”
I left seething, leaving Granger with her mouth agape behind me. The rage inside me so all consuming I was nearly shaking. But somehow, I felt alive. More alive than I ever did in years. Like if her hatred, the flame in her eyes and the response it incited in me had awoken a long sleeping part of me. The part that felt things, not just performed task after task in order to reach a goal.
I couldn’t understand it nor begin to rationalize it before I arrived at Slytherin’s dungeons, finding Draco sitting in one of the sofas, alone, reading a book. His eyebrows were pursed and he hissed when he tried to readjust himself.
“I take it it’s not better.”
He looked up to see me standing there, a slight regret gracing his features for showing weakness in front of me.
“It’s fine.”
“Obviously it is not, Draco. I may be a lot of things but daft I am not. You are suffering.” He didn’t respond this time, redirecting his attention to his book. He knew denying would be useless. “It’s been a week Draco.”
“I am aware.” – he said simply. – “My injury as not affected my ability to count the days.”
“You know what I meant, you promised me something.”
“Pansy, no. I’m not going.”
“Merlin, your stubbornness is infuriating.” – I huff and sit next to him. – “Lift your shirt.”
He looks scandalized, eyes wide. As if I have just made the most inappropriate proposition to him.
“Excuse me?” – he almost shrieks.
“Come on you git, I am not going to molest you. I have been reading up in healing spells, let me try to help you.”
He looked suspicious but conceited, lifting his shirt slightly. Revealing a bruise looking just as nasty or perhaps worse than last time.
“That is why you have been spending so much time in the library then. Do try to not hex any part of my body off, will you.”
“I’ll do my best.” – I said before concentrating on my wand and on the task at hand. After a few seconds of concentration I uttered the spell with a flick of my wand. At first nothing happened, but after a minute or so the odd coloration began to disappear, giving place to the delicate marble complexion.
Draco moved his arm around slowly, and then shifted from side to side, testing the waters. His face was surprised and positively delighted.
“Pans! It doesn’t hurt anymore!” – he was so excited it was heart-warming. – “You are absolutely amazing.”
His hand cupped my cheek and he pulled me towards him, his lips covering mine. The kiss was hard and fast over, clearly fueled by his euphoria. His lips were chapped and his hand calloused against my skin.
When he pulled away he a wide grin sat on his face, however something told me it had more to do with being cured than with having kissed me.
“Just in time to get in shape for the next game, bloody brilliant! I need to go fly now.” – He got up and headed towards the door. – “Thanks again Pans, I really owe you this time.”
I stood there, a strange feeling running through my body.
It had happened. Draco had kissed me. This was the thing I had wanted most for the past two years, ever since my mom first lectured me about the importance of securing Draco Malfoy’s affection. This was what I had worked for, the first step of the ultimate goal. It should’ve been a rejoicing moment. And still I felt nothing. Just a blank, bland apathy coursing through my veins.
My heart was not beating faster, there were no insects on my stomach, there was no trembling excitement, there were no new stars beneath my eyelids.
It hadn’t been unpleasant or anything of the sort. It had just been mundane. Another task.
That disappointed me far more than I could explain, for I had hoped to feel something, anything beyond this apathy, and now it became just the first step on a string of boxes I should check to accomplish my goal. A goal that wasn’t quite mine, just like it was never my happiness.
After that day Draco continued to kiss me sporadically, never really going further than a slightly tongue contact, never making the butterflies in my stomach take flight, the sky behind my eyelids remaining pitch black.
It made my mother the most pleased however, going as far as to send me new robes to “make sure I looked as delightful for dear Draco as possible”. He didn’t pay that much mind when I did wear them, throwing a casual “You look gorgeous Pans.” my way, his attention gone as swiftly as it came.
The slow, almost nonexistent progress in my relationship with Draco worried me purely on a practical level. I didn’t yearn for physical intimacy with him, even if I did realize it is necessary. However the fact he didn’t procure it, not with me or with anyone else (as far as I am aware), tranquilized me as much as it concerned me, making me wonder if I should take the initiative, even if that could be considered an unladylike thing to do.
It was a toss honestly. On one side I felt I needed to get closer to the boy I was supposed to marry one day, on the other hand I don’t want my relationship with my best friend to change substantially, at least not for now.
I already came to the conclusion I didn’t love Draco, not in a romantic way at least. However, I cared deeply for him, felt comfortable around him, I was more like myself around him than around anyone else (even if I was not my truest self, but that was off limits). So I think marrying your best friend is a rather good arrangement, considering. After all, as mother so classily placed it, Love is merely something poor people invented, in order to feel better about not having money or, just as good, Love is merely something muggles invented, those of us who have magic need nothing of the sort.
There was something different about my everyday interactions though. Something besides the pursuit of my relationship with Draco, OWLs preparation and appeasing Umbridge. And that something was Hermione Granger.
That moment in the library had haunted me for weeks, when every inch of me came alive under her rage, and since then she has been the fuse and the powder, the anger in her eyes when I insult her the torch that starts the forest fire. The fervent hatred she throws my away makes me feel alive each and every time, even if her comments have never reached the point they did in the library.
The Inquisitorial Squad was a golden opportunity to obtain this guilty pleasure without arousing the suspicion a continuous attack targeted solely on Granger might, and I jumped on it. The extra closeness to Draco and my parents’ approval were added bonus.
Messing with Granger made me feel exhilaration with a twinge of guilt. It was barely noticeable at first, just like with everybody else the empathic part of myself felt numb, but with time that feeling reared its ugly head in the midst of my ocean of apathy. Nowadays I felt equal parts exhilarated and guilty, the second feeling quite more unwelcome than the first. An attenuating factor however, was the fact that it was increasingly hard to get a rise out of her. After that incident on the library when she appeared to lose control over her polite demeanor, she seemed to keep herself permanently in check. She ignored most of my comments. Even my most creative jabs would get only a scowl in response sometimes. It frustrated me to no end, but the times she actually responded were worth it. So I kept pushing, and pushing and pushing.
She hated me more now, I could tell, even if she responded less and less to my provocations. The way her eye twitched when I teased her, the way she clenched her hands, closing them into fists, the vein that popped in her delicate neck, the change of her complexion to match that Weasel’s hair more closely, they were all tell-tale signs of the anger sweeping through her. And whenever she let that anger out and the fire overtook her orbs, shadowing any other expression on her gaze, I relished in it.
Those were the moments I lived for these days, not for Draco’s kisses or for my mother’s praises or for Umbridge’s approval. For everything else it was merely a matter of existing, for those fervent disputes with Hermione Granger, I lived.
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They had gone and faced off against Death Eaters, bloody Death Eaters! Those insufferably noble, overachievers, with a gigantic hero complex and apparently zero regard for their lives. The Weasels and the Potter Scar-head and that loony girl and all those other crazy, uninteresting excuses for wizarding students, I could not give two fucks about. But she went too, she went and almost got herself killed and I was, I am, beyond infuriated. My chest tighten and my heart felt claustrophobic. If I had allowed myself to consider my feelings I probably would have realized I felt afraid. There had been genuine fear gripping me from the inside out. If she died I would stop feeling entirely, no more lava hot anger to melt my icy façade, no more glares to pierce straight through me and unwind me completely. I would be left only a bottomless pit of nothing, condemned to a full body numbness for the rest of my days.
The desperation that took over me at that thought spurred me right now. I had seen her getting to the Great Hall this morning, I knew she was alive and, from what I could tell, unscathed, but I needed more. I needed to know I could still feel, that her glare was still there, that they hadn’t broken something inside her.
That was all I was thinking while I marched inside the bathroom I had seen her and girl-Weasley enter. Weasley was at the sink washing her hands, Hermione nowhere in sight, most likely inside a stall. I knew by now that targeting her friends was the most certain way to get her to unleash her anger, so I prepared to play my part.
“You’re really all still alive, uh? I was hoping that at least your little boyfriend wouldn’t be soiling my sight anymore.” – she turned to me, a vicious expression in her eyes – “Or you Weasley, you were only really good for something when He used you too terrorize the school. Apart from that… but apparently the Death Eaters are fairly incapable if they can’t even take care of a bunch of scrawny teenagers.”
I could see her trembling a bit, anger cursing through her. Still, no sign of the person I intended to find, so I pressed on.
“It’s not as if anybody'd miss you anyway. Potter barely knows you exist and your parents have hundred more dirty redheads to care for. Maybe only that crazy friend of yours, Loony Lovegood isn’t it? Nobody else would talk to her otherwise.” – I was being more vicious than usual, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
She snarled at me then and practically growled:
“Don’t call her that, her name is Luna.”
That is what she picks to retort to out of all that? Interesting.
“Whatever.” – I say dismissively – “If I didn’t know you had a ridiculous unrequited crush on Scar-head, I’d say you might have the hots for the crazy girl with the way you defend her.”
Tears were prickling at her eyes, she was shaking in earnest now. Maybe I struck a nerve. As I prepared to dig my finger into the wound and twist forcefully, a door flew open with such force it almost broke out of its hinges.
“Enough!” – screamed Hermione. Finally. Relief flooded through me. She quieted her voice to address her friend – “Ginny, don’t listen to this excuse of a person. Go to the dorm, I’ll meet you there.”
Weasley hesitated for a moment, unsure of leaving the older girl alone with me, but ended up following Hermione’s directions and turning to walk out.
Hermione turned to me again, the fire in her eyes burning in a way I had never witnessed before. I guess the confrontation didn’t put out the inferno, it only made it burn hotter.
“You!” – She pointed at me in an accusatory manner and marched in large powerful steps towards where I stood, bewildered inside, but with my indifference mask carefully in place – “You disgusting, spiteful person. I’d rather have actual mud for blood than be you.” – She got closer with every word – “You hurt people, good people, because on the inside you know they have something you’ll never have. People who actually care about them.” - She was in my personal space now, so threatening, so close I could not breathe. – “People that love them. You have no idea what that is, do you? Of course you don’t. No one ever loved you.” – My lungs would not work, all my chest ignited and not in the usual exhilarated way, instead in a cutting, painful way. As if her words were a Crucio curse descending upon me. – “And no one ever will.”
I don’t know what pushed my body forward. I was sure that I was not in control of my muscles, of my bones, of my nerves, of anything. I was not even aware of what was happening until my lips made contact with hers. One moment this girl was cutting me open with her words, her presence, her fire and the next my lips were crashing against hers with the force of all five oceans colliding with the shore in a windy day. My hands gripped her face in each side, anchoring myself for dear life against the waves that washed over me. Her scent evolved me all around, and I could breathe again, maybe for the first time ever.