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It’s not that Pansy can’t take care of herself.
She’s had a lot of practice; coming up against the older Gryffindor boys who called her Puggy Pansy in school, the skinny Ravenclaw girls who looked at the boobs squeezing out of her robes and whispered slut as she walked past, the teachers constantly pulling her up for uniform violations when the stupid fucking design didn’t fit right on her body.
Pansy decimated them all with her cutting wit and deadpan glare (and, in Jessica Dupont’s case, a well aimed Stinging Hex). She can take care of herself.
Sometimes, though, it just gets a bit tiring.
Tonight, she can’t be bothered. She spent hours getting ready (which has nothing to do with Ginevra Weasley’s RSVP to this particular event, no matter what Potter implies otherwise) and she’s in the tightest bodycon dress she could find, six inch heels, and a push-up bra that’s cutting off circulation to her arms. She’s simply not in the mood for boorish morons.
Which is why she merely gives the sleazy-looking Ministry bloke at the bar an arched eyebrow when he leers at her chest, and turns back to her gin and tonic. On the dancefloor, Draco and Potter are practically dry humping, and Millie and Daphne are in a dance circle with Finnigan and Thomas and various assorted Gryffindors. Traitorous wretches.
Pansy finishes her drink and turns back to Hannah Abbott, who’s looking at her with a small smile as she polishes glasses.
‘Another?’ Pansy asks hopefully, and Hannah laughs.
‘Sure, Parkinson.’
‘I’ll get it,’ comes a nasally voice, and it’s the sleazy Ministry lackey again, his Department of Transportation lanyard still slung around his neck.
Wanker.
‘That’s fine,’ Pansy says in the coolest tone she can affect, and he only sidles closer.
‘Oh, it’s not a problem, really.’
Pansy looks back at Hannah, who gives Pansy a slight roll of her eyes. Pansy bites back a grin.
‘I can afford my own drinks,’ Pansy says simply, and he laughs, like it’s a challenge.
‘You shouldn’t have to buy your own drinks,’ he says, and he smells like cheap aftershave and beer. Pansy’s stomach turns, and she really just wants him to leave her alone. Hannah slides her another gin and tonic and waves away the guy’s Galleons. ‘You’re Miss Independent, huh?’
‘Something like that,’ Pansy mutters, scanning the room. No sign yet of tall, muscular gingers—not that she’s waiting.
The guy laughs.
‘I’m Jason.’
Pansy hums.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Pansy.’
‘Pretty name.’ He gets closer again. ‘You know, you’re really sexy, for a big girl.’
Pansy freezes.
She’s heard it before. She’s heard it and she usually has a comeback. She normally tells the guy I’m sexy, full stop or you’re really ugly, for a skinny dude, or something equally hilarious and witty that ends the interaction.
But tonight’s just—well, tonight’s not the night. Her bra is too tight and the club is too warm and Ginevra isn’t fucking here.
So she freezes, and the humiliation creeps over her skin like a prickle, like shame. Fuck.
Then, a familiar drawl.
‘Not to be rude,’ Draco says, wrapping one arm around Pansy’s shoulders and pulling her towards him, giving the guy a disdainful once-over, ‘but you look like…a garbage rat.’
Behind them, Potter snorts, and Jason goes bright red.
‘What—’
‘You look like you just crawled out of a sewer, some sort of infestation—’ Draco pauses for effect, hand on his hip, and Pansy’s heart swells with love. ‘And you look like garbage.’
At the bar, Hannah is muffling laughter into her arm, and Potter throws a peanut at the guy’s head.
‘Go on, piss off, she doesn’t want you,’ he says, and god, Pansy might have to actually start liking the tosser now.
Jason snarls at them, exposing his yellowing teeth. ‘Just because the bitch can’t take a compliment—’
Thud.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Ginevra says, looking down at the man she’s just smacked onto the bar floor. Jason looks up in horror and slinks away, muttering about fucking bitches and fat sluts.
Pansy doesn’t even notice, because Ginevra is in tight jeans and a cut-off tee and a backwards baseball cap, not dressed at all for a party, and god, Pansy has surely never been this turned on.
Draco kisses Pansy on the cheek. ‘I’ll leave you to it, gorgeous.’
She really must thank him later, but she can’t right now, because Ginevra has stepped closer in Draco’s absence, and she’s got those wide blue eyes and a cheeky grin and she’s crowding Pansy against the bar, biting her lip.
‘Now that he’s taken care of,’ Ginevra says, arms either side of Pansy’s torso, her gaze flicking over her appreciatively, ‘has someone bought you a drink tonight?’
Pansy breathes in, willing her heart to settle. ‘No, no one’s managed yet.’
‘I see.’ Ginevra winks at her, and then motions to Hannah. ‘Two gin and tonics, please.’